You Keep Passing Me By
by the.eye.does.not.SEE
Summary: He hopes for the best while continuing to suffer through the worst.  Mark after the season seven finale's downright depressing fight/conversation with Lexie. Songfic for "Ships in the Night" by Mat Kearney.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: You Keep Passing Me By (1/1)

**A/N**: I know, I should be updating IHYBMM (Wow, that's a lame acronym), but I just got 6 new Mat Kearney songs and I can't stop listening to them. This fic grew out of my newfound obsession/love for a song called "Ships In the Night," which I think (sadly) completely embodies Mark and Lexie.

**Summary: **He hopes for the best while continuing to suffer through the worst. Mark after the clusterfuck known as the season seven finale.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own these lyrics or these characters. If I did, Jackson would've been the Mercy Wester to die in season six, not Charles or Reed. And they would play a lot more of Mat's music on the show.

_. . . _

_Like ships in the night_

_You keep passing me by_

_Just wasting time; trying to prove who's right_

_. . ._

Mark made it home uncharacteristically late that night. He hadn't stayed so long at the hospital because he wanted to be there, but more because he hadn't wanted to come home. Not when he knew what he was coming home to and what he was leaving behind. Not when he knew she was going home with _him _and he was going home to an empty apartment he knew would never be full again. Not when he knew he would never feel the same—_be_ the same—without her. Nothing's the same without her.

_I'm letting you go, Lexie. That means you've gotta walk away. _He tried not to remember why he'd wasted the hours at the hospital. He tried not to remember how he'd spent the duration of three now-mundane surgical procedures trying to convince himself he'd done the right thing. By trying to make himself believe that she'd be better off without him. He wouldn't be better off without her, of course, but that didn't matter. This wasn't about him.

After he stepped off the elevator, Mark walked slowly and soundlessly to his apartment door. He slid the key into the lock, waiting for the predictable click to tell him to turn the knob. He did so, throwing the door open wide as if waiting for a glorious surprise. The knob makes a _bang _when it hits the far wall, stretching the door on its hinges.

Standing in the doorway, Mark carefully releases the rather large breath he'd been holding as his eyes take in the empty room before him. Who was he kidding, anyway? He had been waiting for her. He had been expecting her. He had held out hope that she'd changed her mind.

But he has to stop. He needs to. The hope has to end, for both of them.

"Stop." He even says it aloud, desperate for the order to be absorbed by his brain and heart. His voice is hushed and soft; he tries to ignore the way it shakes. "Stop hoping. Just leave it alone. Just—Just leave her alone."

She'd asked him so many times in so many different ways to do just that—leave her the hell alone. _You have to stop. You gotta stop talking to me and checking on me and talking to my boyfriend. _But he'd never listened. He'd always expected she hadn't meant it. He thought she never really wanted to be without him—like he never wanted to be without her—but it's time to face the facts. _She doesn't want you_.

Even his own, silent thoughts make his jaw clench and his body tense. He forces himself to calm down, to relax himself. He takes a deep breath, repeating the thought. _She doesn't want you_. It's torture, but it's necessary. It's awful, but it's true. It makes him want to give up, but it will help him move on.

_Move on, _he thinks, still standing motionless in the doorway. That's what people did when they lost whom they wanted, right? They moved on. They found someone else. They dated someone else. They fell in love with someone else. They moved on to bigger and better things.

Mark lets his eyes fall closed as he takes a steadying breath. He knew what Derek would say if he were here. _It'll be okay. You'll… You know, you'll find someone else. There are plenty of other women. Plenty of people you can connect with. You can do it. It'll be hard, man, but you can do it. Besides, you have to. You can't just hang onto her forever._

Derek would make it seem like there was no other option. Derek would make it seem like being with Lexie had been his job and now that he had been fired, it was time to move on and find another. It was time to get out there and start searching for a new career. It was time to move onto something else.

"But I don't want that," he whispers softly, as if his best friend was standing before him to listen and coach him just like they were kids again. _I don't _**want**_ someone else. I don't _**want**_ to move on._

_. . ._

_Turn the lights down low_

_Walk these halls alone_

_We can feel so far_

_From so close_

_. . ._

He knew what Addison would say. _Well… If you love her so much, why don't you try harder? Why don't you, you know, go over there and tell her? Give her a piece of your mind. Go do...what Mark Sloan does. Go and be you and it'll work out. Get the job done, manwhore._

He almost smiles at this. Addison hasn't been an integral part of his life in years; she barely has any useful perspective. She simply acts as a vessel for who he used to be. The guy who took charge, spoke his mind, and didn't care what anyone thought. The guy who said what he was thinking no matter what the circumstances are. Mark feels a stab of nostalgia. He half wishes he could be that guy still. He wishes he could have all of that drive and self-assurance back. But she's taken it all. He can barely speak around her, let alone tell her what he's really thinking and feeling. It'd be too risky, too dangerous, to let her know it all. It wouldn't be worth the potential calamity that could arise from a move like that.

. . .

He knew what Callie would tell him. _Look, Mark… I know you love her. I know that. You've told me. And you've told her. But… It's been months. It's been months and she hasn't said anything back. Maybe you should… Maybe you should just let go a bit. Maybe try looking for someone else. And before you say it, I _know_ you and Teddy didn't work out. Well—just try again, try someone new. Dating is difficult. You don't just get the perfect person for you plunked right down in front of you. You have to search. But you'll find her, okay? You will. I just know it. You will._

He can even see that reassuring smile Callie specifically uses for conversations like these. She should label it the '_Mark wants Lexie back_' smile, seeing as that's the only time it appears on her face anyway. Or the '_He's too hopeless for anyone to fix_' smile. The '_Maybe if I humor him one more time he'll finally get it_' smile. That knowing smile she has, when she believes she's able to see through him, read his thoughts, and know his heart.

But she doesn't know him. She likes to think she does, but she doesn't really. She doesn't know him anymore. He doesn't bother correcting her or trying to make her understand these days. She never will. She's Callie and he's Mark and though they're best friends and have a child together, that doesn't mean they understand each other on every single level. That doesn't mean they know each other's hearts.

_But Lexie does._

And she was plunked right down in front of him. Contrary to what Callie would believe, the love of his life literally walked right into his existence by showing up at his hotel room all those years ago. He takes a breath, remembering a time when he could finish that sentence with 'and never walked out.' He remembers a time when he thought she'd never leave.

. . .

_We're just fumbling through the gray_

_Trying to find our way down a road we don't know_

_Trying to find a heart that's not walking away_

. . .

A few hours later, lying in his dark and half-empty bed, Mark can't stop thinking. He can't find the 'off' button for his brain, nor the 'on' button for sleep. He can't figure out a way to make the constant pain of knowing he's lost her forever go away. So he thinks back. He let his mind wander. When else had this happened? When else had he thought that someone he loved would be gone forever? A second later he cringes at the memories, remembering when Callie was closer to death than life… What had he done then?

The answer drifts into his mind, coming back to him slowly because it had been such a foreign practice: He'd prayed. He'd sat with Arizona and he'd prayed that the woman they both loved, laid out on the table below them, wouldn't die.

He blinks at the idea. He hadn't been raised by religious parents, hadn't grown up with religion. He hadn't grown _into _it either. It had never been a part of his life expect in dire life-or-death situations.

Considering he felt like dying himself, though, and considering things seemed to be almost as bad as when Callie had been on that table for hours at a time… He prays. He closed his eyes and tries to focus all his willpower and thought into one simple wish.

"I don't want to lose her," he whispers hoarsely, wondering if prayers are amplified with voice over thought. He'd prayed silently for Callie, and that worked, hadn't it? Maybe speaking his pleas aloud would gain him some sort of advantage. A few extra points. _If so, _Mark thinks, _I should join a congregation. They have prayers for the less fortunate, right, and everyone joins in? _A few hundred voices and thoughts would help his cause, wouldn't they? Hundreds of others would amplify the message a hell of a lot stronger than he ever could on his own.

And if the guy sitting up in the clouds could create a planet and all its inhabitants in a week, he could do this too, couldn't he? It couldn't be that hard. It was simple, uncomplicated request. It was a problem with an easy solution. He just wanted her back. He just wanted to know she wasn't really gone forever, hidden away in someone else's arms. He'd do anything, anything at all, if his wishes could be appeased. He'd do anything anyone wanted from him if it meant he could be with her. He'd wait for her like she waited for him if it meant she was back, if it meant that she loved him and wanted to be with him.

He closes his eyes, feeling his faith leak out, encased within the tears on his face. No matter. He'll still try. He won't give up. _Blood, sweat, and tears are the ingredients, right?_

"Please, God, don't let me lose her." He squeezes his eyes tight, knowing he'll have to try harder next time. His broken voice is gravelly and barely audible. He'll have to be louder next time. "Don't let me let go of her, or let her get away. Don't let us give up on each other. Please, God, don't let us give up."

_. . ._

_Trying to believe in your silent own way_

_Cause we'll be okay, I'm not going away_

_And I'm gonna find my way _

_Back to your side_

_I'm gonna find my way_

_Back to your side_

_. . ._

A/N: Please review. I would love to know what you all think.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**:

_Author's Note: So I couldn't quite get this idea out of my head once I wrote that first part. Also, I wanted to try out the first-person perspective since I never write in it. This is Mark's POV._

. . .

Lately, I find myself praying a lot. And by a lot, I mean at least everyday. I was pretty rusty at first, and would've probably sounded stiff and formal to anyone who could hear me. But no one could, and I still can't make up my mind if I appreciate that fact or not. My prayers, though more frequent, have become oddly less desperate as time has gone on. When all this began, I used to plan out what I wanted to say, as if I was going in for an interview or an interrogation. I organized everything I was going to say in my head, and then I would quietly ask for it. I never spoke at a normal decibel; for some reason I was worried someone would overhear me. But now it doesn't matter. Now the prayers just come out; I don't even think I can control them anymore. I barely think before I speak with God now. It's become a habit.

. . .

She's still with Avery, so obviously everything I've asked for hasn't quite happened. I guess I don't have enough pull. After all, who am I except someone turning to religion when he's desperate? I suppose God would save his miracles for lifelong believers. They deserve it, anyway.

Though I manage to half-accept that idea, every once in a while I'll get angry about it. I'll get angry at the world, at God, at her and at him. A moment later, though, it won't matter. How could wanting a woman in your life compare to prayers against world hunger, genocide, or sickness, anyway? Why should I be complaining—I have a steady, rewarding job, food and water, a place to live… It isn't like I'm in the middle of a war zone and was separated from my wife of fifty years or something. No, this is my life. This is _real_ life, where people break up and relationships fall apart. …But even if I could compare myself to the less fortunate, why should _my _prayers be answered? I've technically broken every single commandment, not to mention lived a life so devoid of belief it would probably be called meaningless in the eyes of God. I don't deserve anything, really.

Nonetheless, I still try. My prayers get smaller, but my actions get larger. Strangely, I find myself going to church on a regular basis—a place I have never been inside except for wedding and funerals. I don't go to the same church, mind you, but still…church. There are enough of them in Seattle so I don't have to go to the same one more than once a month nor make friends. This works perfectly, since I'm not quite ready for that type of commitment. Then again, maybe that's another reason why God's holding out on me.

. . .

As the weeks continue to pass by and nothing changes, I even try to make an effort with Avery. Truthfully, I try to make an effort with a blank face, which is what he's had to become for me to tolerate him, but it's an effort nonetheless. I think. And it might be rude, but I can't bring myself to care enough to find another way to communicate with him. I can barely stand to look at him—let alone talk to or teach him—without erasing his face and everything it reminds me of so I can actually focus. It's either he's a blank face that I don't need to worry about or he's her boyfriend, and even thinking that phrase makes me want to stop his lungs from working… So I spend a couple days a week forcing myself to speak to what I want to be a stranger and to forget about her.

Unfortunately, this plan backfires more often than I'd care to admit out loud. Or to myself. In my mind, it works.

But I should give Avery some credit. He's a surprisingly capable surgeon and—even more impressive—he hasn't ever brought her up around me. He's been sitting in on my patients and surgeries for weeks now, and though he seems to know something's changed, he never says a word. He actually doesn't talk to me much, besides necessary questions about various procedures, and that suits me fine. We pretend we're professionals and only speak out of common courtesy. He pretends he's a real surgeon and I pretend that I'm not literally praying for his girlfriend to dump him and come back to me.

But recently, his respect for my space has started to bother me. Sometimes I wonder… You know, maybe Lexie told him what happened. Maybe he's decided to be mindful my poor, delicate feelings, lest I shatter into a million heartbroken pieces at the sound of her name. Or maybe she told him to leave me alone. Either way, he hasn't said her name one single time in my presence, and every once in a while—when I'm feeling generous—I imagine myself thanking him for it. If I were in his place, there's no doubt in my mind that I'd do everything I could to flaunt my romantic status in his face. I'd make sure he knew we were together, and I'd force him to accept it. So I appreciate that he isn't as big of an asshole as I know I would be if the tables were turned.

But even knowing all that, I can't thank him. Because that gesture might be misconstrued as approval. And I do not approve.

Still… You know what? He's an okay guy. Better than I was at that age, at least. And he makes her happy.

_I want to be happy. And Jackson _makes_ me happy._

How much I wish she'd never said that to me. How much I wish she'd left it at "I'm always going to love you." But she couldn't. And as much as it sucks, I understand that she had to make _me_ understand. I get that. I've done it to her too. She just had to get it all off her chest before it crushed her.

I'm sure when she said them, she meant her words to be comforting. I'm sure she was trying to leave me with something. I guess she'll never know that all she's left me with is regret and self-incrimination for the failure of what we used to be. Someone has to take the fall, after all, so why not me? If she loved me so much, it must've been something I did wrong that broke us up. It's always been something I did wrong, hasn't it?

. . .

_Like ships in the night, you keep passing my by_

_Just wasting time, trying to prove who's right_

_And if it all goes crashing into the sea_

_If it's just you and me, trying to find a light…_

. . .

_Don't let me lose her. God, don't let me lose her._

"Excuse me… But are you alright?"

"What?" I ask, jerking my head up and catching sight of a man sitting beside me on my right. He's hunched over, leaning towards me, and waiting for an answer. I lick my lips and recline on the hard wooden pews.

"I don't mean to pry," he continues, "but I've seen you here a few times, and I really didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I overheard a bit of what you were just saying…" He swallows, staring at me with light green eyes, situated behind his receding brown hair. "Would you like me to put her in my prayers as well?"

_What? _I sputter inside my head, feeling hugely violated. I can barely think about—let alone answer—his questions—but I can realize one thing: My old fears have finally been realized. Someone just heard me praying after lost love like a PMSing girl and there's no way I can escape him now. The only fact that eases this entire encounter is that this guy has no idea who I am. And once I walk out of here, I never have to see him again. I can cross this congregation off the list and move onto another.

"Her?" I manage after a moment.

"The woman you were praying for," he clarifies. _Don't let me lose her._ "Is she sick?"

_Sick? In the head, maybe_, I think but don't say. Something about my newfound religion has made me civil and polite—at least out loud. Sometimes it's rather bothersome not being able to say what's on my mind. Other times, it's nice to be accepted and pretend to conform to society.

"Sick?" I ask aloud. My voice and mind are moving so slowly, the man must think I'm mentally handicapped.

"You…" The man glances down, avoiding my gaze, and I can tell he's embarrassed at repeating my words. _As he should be_, I think, the violated feeling I had before rising again, this time morphing into anger. _That was a private, one-way communication. And you were not invited, _I direct his way telepathically. "You said you didn't want to lose her."

"I don't," I reply automatically. Even I can hear the defensive edge to my words, as if he had doubted my hopes. As if it was his fault all this had happened. As if it was his fault that she was with him. _Calm down, Mark, _I tell myself."But she's not sick," I add, my tone curbed. "She's just…" I pause, turning my head to the left and looking out into the dispersing crowd as if I can find the word I'm searching for there. The word that will tell him everything without really telling him anything. "Gone," I finish, looking back at him, only half-satisfied with the term. The other half of me wants to blurt out what I really mean, all that I'm hiding, but I know that can't happen. It isn't allowed to happen. "She's gone," I repeat flatly. And, for once, my subdued voice has nothing to do with her. I blink at my sudden realization, looking down at my shoes. _I have no one to talk to. _The thought actually scares me with its accuracy. I've never been this alone before, and I hadn't even noticed it happening. _When was the last time I spoke to Derek? Callie?_ My eyebrows pull together at the though. _How is it that I only have two friends? And I've forgotten them both?_

"I'm sorry." The man's voice brings me back from my thoughts and I look to my right. His face is sympathetic and he thankfully has enough sense not to try and smile at me. Though he looks a good fifteen years older than me, I would probably end up punching him if he smiled at me or tried to bond over this. And yet, as if hearing my thoughts, the man holds out his hand. I bite back an exasperated sigh at the ancient sign of new acquaintances and eventual friendships. Yes, I want friends. But I don't want strangers. I want the people who really _know me _back. The entire reason I don't go to the same church twice within a four-week period nor speak to anyone inside is because I don't want to create any ties. I can't depend on anyone except my imaginary friend up there. …But it's the big guy's house, and I'd be doing him a disservice by not being polite. I take his hand.

"Mark," I offer, only half-reluctant, before I can stop myself. _Maybe it will do some good to speak to someone else. Someone who isn't involved. _The other, paranoid part of me, cuts in, trying to protect me from myself. _You don't have to tell him anything. He doesn't need to know. No one needs to know._

"Patrick O'Reilly," he replies. His handshake is firm. I do not contribute my last name. "The only reason I asked is because I lost my wife a year back."

"I'm sorry." I frown. The excuse I'd expected him to cover with wasn't really an excuse. I can't quite ridicule him for a dead wife. "Was she sick?" I guess.

Patrick nods. "Cancer. The doctors didn't find it until it was too late."

"I'm very sorry."

"Thank you," he replies. His genuine tone makes me look into his eyes again, and oddly, I don't see sorrow within his leafy-green eyes. He gaze simply meets mine; gentle and welcoming.

Or maybe I've just been starved from real human interaction for too long. Maybe he's looking at me with menacing and cold green eyes. Maybe he only talked to the guy sitting next to him because _he_ wanted to talk, not because he wanted to listen. He lost his wife, anyway. He doesn't need my problems.

"I should go," I excuse myself after a moment.

Patrick nods again. He can probably tell I want to end the conversation. "I'll keep you in my prayers, then," he calls as I start to walk away.

I look over my shoulder as I'm exiting the pew. He catches my gaze and his eyes smile over at me, somehow doing so without bringing his mouth into the equation. "You never know," he adds. "Maybe she'll turn up."

_Like a lost dog? _I think sarcastically. _I highly doubt that_._ Even dogs have sense enough to wander back home._

"Maybe," I echo instead. I hold Patrick's stare for a moment before walking up the side aisle. The church is mostly deserted now, so I can head straight to the door and walk out into the rare Seattle sun without pausing to make my way through the crowd. If I did pause, I'm sure I'd only end up walking back over there and wasting that poor guy's entire day with my problems. And he doesn't need that.

It's best to leave the grieving to their grief, right? Just leave them alone with their thoughts. It's been working pretty damn well for me, as everyone can see.

. . .

Just like I took to praying and going to church, I've also taken to carrying around a ring. And before you accuse of being so—I'm not _that_ stupid. I am not _that_ naïve. This isn't a fairy tale or a soap opera, so I know acting this way won't bring her back. I know she won't magically come to the realization that I can't live without her and then she'll be back and we can get married and live happily ever after and do whatever else those crappy and misleading stories are about. The time for happily-ever-afters passed a good few years ago, anyway. The ring simply works as a reminder: at one point, we worked. At one point, we were together.

And in case you're wondering, I didn't go out and buy one—I'm not _that _hopeless, mind you—but I've had one hidden away in the back of my dresser's bottom drawer for about a year and a half. Like an idiot, I never acted on it—only picked it up once or twice and really contemplated the idea—and now it's too late. But I still like to carry it around. I suppose it's like some sort of sick penance, but weirdly, I find myself liking having it with me.

And even though I know it's hopeless, ridiculous, and foolish, I can't put the ring back where it belongs. All I did was pick it up one day while I was putting laundry in the drawers and now I can't leave it alone. Just so you know, though, I don't walk through the hospital doors each day planning on asking her. That would be suicide. And as much as I'd like to tell myself I feel like dying, I don't want to, not really. Not when there's still a chance. Not when she's still not permanently spoken for.

Yet I still carry the ring around. Like my hope and my prayers, I carry it with me. My hopes are what I can feel, my prayers are what I can hear and say, but the ring is _real_. The ring is solid. I can touch it and see it and pretend things will work out for the better. For a second each day when I first see it, I can pretend we're back in a time when I could've actually contemplated asking her for a lifetime like that. But then the second ends. Reality crashes in and I'm back to pretending she doesn't exist while going out of my way to covertly find her. If we didn't work at the same hospital, I'd be rapidly labeled as a stalker for the amount of effort I go through just trying to catch a glimpse while remaining hidden myself.

Oh, who am I kidding? I am a stalker. The only difference between me and most lowlifes is that I have a PhD.

. . .

"Pat," I sigh. "We've been over this."

He shrugs, looking at me out of the corner of his green eyes as we sip complementary punch with about two-thirds of the congregation in the gathering space. "I still think you should talk to her," he replies over the shouts of two little boys who go running past, clutching handfuls of iced cookies in their hands. I can hear someone's mother calling after one of the kids and see a dad grabbing the other. _It's a cathedral, not a playground, _the woman scolds one of her boys. _Be respectful._

Somehow, five months have passed and I'm still here. I took my circuit for a few weeks and then ended up back at St. James' Cathedral and just never left. It's been _my _church for the past twelve weeks. And I've just celebrated my first Christmas mass in my entire life.

"You know," I continue quietly, "when I told you the details of it all, I hadn't meant for you to keep talking about it."

"Details?" He scoffs, pretending to be insulted. "I don't even know her name."

I smirk, glancing over to him. "Maybe there was a reason behind that certain omission."

"Oh, what?" He complains. "You think I'd go hunting through all of Seattle for her?"

"I would not put it past you," I mutter into my drink.

He smiles, shaking his head stepping away to deposit his paper cup in a nearby trashcan. "I wouldn't," he replies. "And I respect your privacy."

"Really?" I ask, turning around to look him in the eye. "_You_? Respecting someone else's privacy?"

"No need to be sarcastic," he replies amiably.

"You're the most intrusive person I know," I continue. "And that is saying something."

He shakes his head as if I'm crazy, shrugging on his coat. "Do whatever you want," he says. "But I'm telling you, if you don't do something now, you might miss your chance."

"I missed my chance over a year ago," I reply. "And nothing's changed since then. There's no point in trying."

"There's always a point in trying," he argues. "You might change her mind."

I shake my head. "There's no way I can change her mind." _She has a boyfriend, in case you've forgotten._

"Not even a bit?"

"Not even a bit," I reply firmly, looking away. "Trust me."

He sighs, and at the sound of it, I can tell he's getting annoyed with my denials. "For someone so desperate, you really don't put in much effort."

My head swivels back towards him, my mouth opening immediately. "I do—"

"Merry Christmas, Mark," he calls, his back already turned to me. "I'll see you next Sunday."

"Merry Christmas," I mutter darkly, finishing my drink and tossing it into the trash. I stare after him, wanting to walk over and explain to him just how _much _effort I put into this before I realize… _You know what? He's right. I _don't _try. I _don't _make an effort. I just sit here and hope things will work out without my help. Since when does hoping accomplish anything? You have to act._

Only problem is, I have no idea how to act. This used to be my forte, rushing in with grand romantic gestures… But I can't think of a single thing to do. A half-second later, I feel my fingers clutch the small box in my pocket reflexively, as if supplying me with a solution. _No, _I think forcefully, closing my eyes. _No, no, no, that's too much._

A second later, I'm crossing to the coat rack, grabbing the jacket of my suit, and heading outside. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a few people waving, but I can't spare a glance. I have to get to Pat before he leaves. I push open the half-propped door, sucking in the cold air. It hasn't snowed today, but the streets and edges of the main staircase are still covered in slush. I sweep my gaze down the staircase, but there's no sign of him. _Does he have a car?_ I wonder. If so, I'm probably too late. He's would've left already. But I head down to ground level anyway, thinking I might be able to catch him if I move fast enough.

I'm halfway down the steps when I hear a woman from church yell after me. "Mark!"

I wave over my shoulder, ignoring the voice. There's no one from St. James that can't wait a week to see me again.

"Mark!" She calls again. "Hey!"

"Later," I mutter tersely, finally reaching flat ground and heading across the sidewalk.

"Hey! Hey, wait up! I need to talk to you."

I bite my lip, my teeth digging deeply into the flesh in frustration, as I feel a hand on my arm. I close my eyes in exasperation at being held back. _God, these women are pushy._ _But it'll just take a second, _I think, trying to calm down. _It's just someone wanting to say 'Merry Christmas.' It'll take a second._

I plaster a smile on my face, turning around to face whoever it is. Despite the air being nowhere near freezing, I feel my face and body do just that when my eyes land on her. The voice was familiar, I realize. And the face is familiar. But not from church. I can feel my eyes widen involuntarily, shocked and trying to take is as much of her as I can. I finally manage to unfreeze myself a few embarrassing seconds later, blinking as if I've been staring at the sun or a bright light. I half expected sunspots to appear in my vision when I blink my eyes. _God, she looks amazing._

"Why didn't you stop?" She asks, slightly breathless, as a small smile curving her lips. It's probably there because I look ridiculous, standing here open-mouthed and staring.

Instead of responding like a normal person would, I gaze at her speechless, licking my lips when they quickly go dry in the cold air. My eyes roam over her as if I haven't seen her in months, which actually isn't too far off the mark. After a few weeks of my fruitless praying, I hadn't wanted to see her in the halls anymore. But I see her now.

She's wearing jeans and a black sweater, and her purse is slung across her body over a maroon coat. I remember that coat from somewhere, but I can't exactly place it. Surprisingly, her dark hair is cut short, layered in different lengths. The bulk of it falls just a few inches above her shoulders. She looks different, but still the same. She's still beautiful. She's still Lexie.

"Hi," I manage belatedly, unable to stop staring. We haven't spoken in six months. _And my first word is 'Hi.' Great._

"So?" She asks after a second. "Why'd you ignore me?"

"I…" I swallow, blinking rapidly. I feel my lips twitch when I see that she's still standing in front of me. _How is this actually happening?_ "I, uh, didn't know it was you," I reply a moment later. "I…" My eyebrows draw together. "Wait, do you go to church here?" _How had I missed this?_

She shakes her head. "No. But…" I can hear a half-laugh in her voice. "You do?"

"Yeah," I say, hoping she can't see the desperation behind my smile. "I do, actually."

She adjusts her purse, crossing her arms against the cold. "I don't mean to be rude, but… Why, exactly? I've never seen you go to church. I didn't even know you were Catholic."

"Oh, I'm… I'm not. I'm just, uh, here."

"Need some spiritual enlightening?" She jokes.

I smirk before realizing the truth in her words. "Yes," I reply seriously.

"Oh," she mutters a second later, looking down at my response and realizing the personally intimate nature of that question. "Right."

"So, um, how—how are you?" I ask quickly, hoping she won't want me to elaborate on my religious practices. Despite being all about her, they aren't really for her ears.

"Fine," she replies automatically. "Busy."

I nod at her stock answer. "Of course."

"And you?"

"I'm good," I lie. "So… Why are you here?"

"I, um…" She trails off, rubbing the ground with the toe of her boots. "I was looking for you, actually."

"Oh, yeah?" I try to keep my voice light despite feeling like she can hear my heartbeat accelerate at her words. "What about?"

"Just…" She looks up at me, and I can see the muscles in her throat move as she swallows nervously. _What does she have to be nervous about?_ "Just… I…"

I stare at her, inclining my head towards her. "What is it, Lex?"

"It's…" She trails off again, but her eyes are still on me and I can clearly see the fear in them. My forehead creases, and I stand there incredibly confused.

"Did something happen?" I ask quickly. _If something did, why did they send her? 'They,' _I think a second later. _'They.' _And it comes to me like a flash of lightning. "Oh, shit," I say, my eyes widening and mouth going dry in fear. "What happened? Did someone get hur—"

"No," she cuts in, shaking her head. "No, nothing happened. Nothing like that."

I stare at her, still bewildered. It sounds like she's about to cry. _What is going on with her?_

"You—you know what?" She says before I can ask if she's okay. "It's nothing. I just—I have to go," she finishes, stepping towards the curb and reaching her hand out for a taxi.

"Well, wait," I call, stepping after her. "Did I do something?" _I haven't talked to you in six months, _I think._ What in God's name did I do?_ "Did I—"

"No," she replies as a cab pulls up. It spatters both of our pant legs with dirty street-slush, but neither of us make a move to shake off the sopping wet substance. "No, you didn't do anything, Mark. You're fine. I just… I'll see you, okay?" She says, opening the cab door and ducking down into it.

"Lexie, wait, I—"

"I have to go, Mark," she says, reaching out for the door I'm currently holding open. She meets my eyes as her fingers close on the handle, and I can tell that with whatever's going on with her, she doesn't need me around to complicate it. So I close my eyes quickly, let go, and step back. I hear the door slam a moment later, but I don't open my eyes or search for her face until I hear the cab pull away.

It's too late by then, and her face has disappeared behind the grimy windows of the car as it pulls out into traffic.

. . .

_We're just fumbling through the gray_

_Trying to find a heart that's not walking away_

. . .

That afternoon, I sit in my living room for almost two hours in silence. When I'm not staring at the blank wall across from me, I'm looking at my phone or the closed lid of the small box I've balanced on my knee. I don't open my list of contacts to see her name, nor the box to see her ring.

If I do either, I'm sure I'll just end up doing a sadly sober and desperate version of a drunken 3-AM phone call, complete with a marriage proposal. If she wasn't already scared off enough today, that would only alienate her further. Probably to the point of no return on her part. Nonetheless, I seem to feel like pushing my boundaries.

I pick up my phone, staring at the darkened screen. _I could call her, _I think, pulling up my contacts. _Find out what's going on._ A second later, I clutch the phone in my fingers, groaning aloud in frustration.

"Stop it," I mutter, throwing my cell across the room. I aimed for the armchair, but the device bounces off the fabric and lands on the floor. It doesn't break, though I feel like that would have been a bit more satisfying that the dull _thud _the harmless collision produced.

I'm such an idiot. What am I thinking, trying to call her? What would I even say? _Oh, ran into you at church today, wasn't that interesting? Want to make polite conversation that will magically morph into you explaining why you ran off on me and then the both of us spill our guts out over the phone to each other? I have a ring, by the way. Want to get married?_

Yeah, _no_. That would never happen. That _could _never happen.

I stare at the phone across the room for a couple minutes before I give up and pocket the jewelry box, getting to my feet. I check my watch as I walk to the counter, grabbing my keys and wallet before opening the front door. It's noon. I glance once to my cell lying on the floor—wishing it would ring—before shoving away that hope and shutting the door behind me. It's been two hours. If she wanted to call, she would have called. I try to push her out of my mind as I head towards the hospital. For once, I'm half-glad she has a boyfriend. At least I know she won't be at the hospital too.

. . .

_12:17 PM. One (1) missed call: Lexie Grey._

. . .

_I turn the lights down low, walk these halls alone_

_We can feel so far_

_From so close_

_Like ships in the night, you keep passing me by_

_. . ._

_Author's Note: Please review._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

_Author's Note: The first bit here is Lexie's POV (again, exercise in trying it out); the rest is a general POV, though, since I couldn't quite use her POV for every scene. Thank you all so much for your reviews. For anyone reading IHYBMM, I will update ASAP. I've got most of the chapter written, but I just need to tweak it some. Anyway, this chapter continues from where the other left outside the church..._

_. . ._

"Are you okay, miss?"

"What?" I ask, throwing myself into the cab. My voice comes out half-choked as I meet the taxi driver's eyes and try to avoid Mark's. I just know he's looking at me, and if I look at him too, I'll just end up jumping out of the car and telling him everything. _Not a good idea._

"You just break up with your boyfriend or something?" The driver catches my eye in the rearview mirror, offering a sympathetic smile.

"What?" I repeat. I'm about to say 'Mark isn't' when I realize, 'Jackson used to be.' "Um, yeah," I manage, knowing we're talking about different people, but still feeling the need to tell someone. "I did, actually."

"Around the holidays?" He questions, pulling out into traffic. "That sucks."

"Yeah," I reply, turning around and looking out the back window. The window's too smudged and the snow's falling too quickly for me to see him. I close my eyes, facing forward after a moment. He probably already left, anyway. "Yeah, it does."

"So… Where to?"

. . .

A half-hour later, I'm back at Meredith's. Despite it being Christmas Day, I walk through the large house without hearing a sound. No one is at home and there's a half-decorated tree in the living room. Unlike Mark, I know that they aren't at church either. I close my eyes, halfway up the stairs, and lift a hand to my temple. I rub the side of my forehead in continuous circles, hoping I can erase everything I heard a few days ago. Or at least denounce it as spurious. But no such luck. _God, Mr. O'Reilly was right. He really was at the church._

. . .

_Three days ago…_

_. . ._

_"Mr. O'Reilly?" I ask, walking slowly towards the older man who's hunched over in his chair. "Are you all right?"_

_ I can see his lips moving slowly against the skin of his fingers, his hands folded before his mouth. A few seconds later, he leans back in his chair, opening his eyes and looking at me._

_ "I'm fine, Dr. Grey," he replies with a small smile. "Just praying."_

_ "Oh, I… I didn't know you were religious," I falter._

_ He smiles at me; I can't tell if the gesture is kind and understanding or mocking of my obliviousness. "Quite, actually. Alice used to come to church with me every week."_

_ "Well, the tests will be back soon," I reply quietly, glancing at the young girl asleep in the hospital bed. "And if they're negative, then I'm betting your daughter will be there with you on Sunday. I'm sure it's a bit lonely going by yourself," she adds sympathetically, "especially on Christmas."_

_ "Oh, it's fine," Patrick replies. "There are plenty of other people to talk and pray with."_

_ "There are?" I ask, looking over. _Hadn't he just evidenced that praying was a private, silent practice?

_ Patrick turns his head to meet my curious gaze; I'm certain he can hear the skepticism in my voice. "You aren't very religious, are you?"_

_ "I…" I trail off, glancing down to the white tiled floor for a moment. The last thing I want to do is alienate an already suffering man with my considerable lack of belief. Not when his daughter might only have a few years left. "There… There isn't always time, you know," I excuse. "Being a surgeon and all… It's, um, it's hard to find time."_

_ "Oh, you can find time," he corrects gently. "In fact, there's a surgeon that goes to my church; he's there every week. If he can find time, I'm sure you can too."_

_ "Yes," I reply, smiling tightly and stepping back. "I'll have to see."_

_ "And praying isn't always a solitary act," he continues, taking care to look me in the eye. "You can do it with others."_

_ I shrug, indicating to his own actions from just moments ago with the gesture. "I always saw it as something personal."_

_ "Many people do," Patrick agrees. "But just because someone doesn't want to pray with you doesn't mean you can't keep them in your prayers."_

_ I smile at him. "You probably have enough on your hands without including other people in your prayers."_

_ "Oh, there's always space for others. Just like finding time for church, you can always find time to help others."_

_ "Yes, but…" I sigh, setting my chart down on the tray table beside Alice's bed. I glance at the sleeping girl for a moment before returning my attention to her father. "I don't mean to be rude, but—Mr. O'Reilly, you've already lost so much. Don't you ever think… Don't you ever want to keep your prayers just for you and your family?"_

_"Now, there's no need to be selfish with prayers," he says with a half-smile directed my way. "God will grant the ones he sees fit. It doesn't matter how many people you pray for, he'll still hear them all and help as many as he can." He smile levels out. "Just like I tell the guy at my church: God will hear you and she'll come back."_

_ "Huh?" I repeat with a smile and a half-chuckle. "What are you talking about?"_

_ "Oh," he shakes his head and waves a hand. "It's nothing. Just this guy at mass. He's having a bit of a rough time, from what I can tell." He looks up to the ceiling; the gesture seems like half of an eye-roll to Lexie, causing her smile to solidify in amusement. "He's waiting for a girl to come back. He said she's 'gone.'"_

_ "Gone like 'ran away' or gone like 'broke up?'" I inquire, more out of courtesy than interest. At this point, I'd continue a conversation about unicorns if it kept Mr. O'Reilly's mind off of his potentially very sick daughter._

_ "I'm not sure," Patrick replies slowly. By the even way he draws out his words, I can tell he's considering the question seriously. "Mark doesn't like to talk about her, and I can't really tell what he's praying for—her to be okay and happy or them to be together. But I think she's still around—she hasn't gone anywhere, I don't think—but he won't talk about her. And if she ran off to some other city, I'm sure he'd follow after her." He shrugs with a smile. "I feel for the guy, you know? He seems pretty desperate. And we've all been there, haven't we? We've all been at the end of our rope."_

_ Patrick had been looking off into space while he spoke, but now his eyes find mine—and I can't move a muscle. Mark. Praying. Girl. I manage to take a shallow breath, stringing my broken thoughts together. Me. Mark is praying for me. I feel my eyes fall closed as if my eyelids are now too heavy to be supported by my own muscles. For a second, I think I'm about to fall to the floor, but Mr. O'Rielly's voice brings me back._

_ "What is it?" His voice is urgent and worried. "Did you get the test results—"_

_ "Oh, no," I reply quickly, my eyes snapping open. The fluorescent lights hit my eyes automatically, forcing myself to blink a few times to steady my head. "No, it's not that. Dr. Robbins is looking over the procedures now." In my nervousness, I drum my fingers against Alice's chart in my hands. _It's not him. It's not him. It can't be him. _It can't be him._

_"Oh," Patrick replies, his voice immediately deflated. I watch as his eyes drop, instinctively looking towards his daughter._

_"It's just…" I begin quickly, trying not to let him linger on the unknown. "It's just… You said the guy's name was Mark?"_

_"At St. James?" He asks, looking back over to me. "Yeah."_

_I lick my lips, feeling like my tongue is bloated and dried all at the same time. "You—you said he's the one who's waiting for a—a girl to come back?" It's not Mark. It's not Mark. It's not Mark._

_ Patrick nods. "Yeah. Why?"_

_ "Do you… Do you know his last name?"_

_ Patrick opens his mouth to reply before frowning. "You know what?" He asks with a laugh. "I don't. He's never told me." He glances to me, his eyes flicking left and right as if he's about to confide information concerning national security. "Between you and me, I get the feeling he doesn't want me to know. He's a pretty private guy. I mean, he's never even told me what kind of surgeon he is."_

_ I close my eyes, whispering the word "otolaryngologist" softly. _This can't be real, _I think. _This isn't real.

_ "What?" Patrick asks, looking over._

_ I open my eyes, thanking whatever god there is that the room isn't spinning and I can see straight. Passing out in front of a patient would not be professional. "He's—he's a plastic surgeon," I simplify._

_ I can see interest flutter across Mr. O'Rielly's face. "You know him?"_

_ "I…" I pause a moment to exhale, realizing that I must've been holding my breath for some time now. Maybe that's why I felt so dizzy. Maybe. "Yes, I—I know him," I manage after a moment. I try not to remember the last time we spoke. I sigh softly. Six months ago._

_ "So he works here?" Patrick continues, somehow oblivious to my internal meltdown._

_ "He does," I find myself saying a second later. _Oh, I need to stop talking to him,_ I think desperately, glancing down to my pager. _The one time I need a 911 page and it doesn't come!

_"Well," Patrick continues as I brace myself. _Please don't let his questions be too invasive, _I hope. _Please._ "When he's ready, I'll let him tell me who she is." He smiles, glancing over at me as if we're just making polite conversation. "Until then, I've probably crossed a few too many lines in his private life."_

_"Right," I reply slowly, still waiting for the moment when he realizes who I am. The moment doesn't come. After a couple silent minutes, he asks me again if I have the test results. I fake flipping through his daughter's chart before excusing myself to pathology._

_I take a detour to a deserted on-call room, locking the door behind me. I don't know if I've ever been more appreciative of an empty, silent place to stop and think in my entire life. _

_I don't know if I've ever been more unappreciative, either._

. . .

When I reach the top of the stairs in Mer's house, I head immediately to my bedroom, grabbing my cell phone out of my bag as I shut the door tight. Even with no one in the house, I can't shake the need for privacy. Before I can stop for a second to think about what I'm doing, I've already dialed and put the phone to her ear. I could have sworn my fingers had their own free will.

A minute later, though, I'm hanging up without so much as speaking with him. His voicemail had picked up, meaning he was probably asleep or out somewhere. I'd checked yesterday, but I hadn't seen his name on the surgical board at all, so I knew he wouldn't be at the hospital. All that's left is going to his house.

I sigh softly, sinking down to the edge of my bed. _Good thing the house is empty, _I think to myself. It'll take me a good while to work up the nerve, and that particular task will be easier to accomplish when there's no one else around.

. . .

_5.30 PM_

. . .

After spending a half-hour staring at Mark's closed blue door, Lexie had finally knocked. In the few seconds it took for him to answer, she half-wished he wouldn't come to the door. The other half of her wanted nothing less to see him again.

Upon opening the door, Mark just stares at her. He'd seen the missed an hour ago when he got home, but he had no idea what to make of it. He'd been so eager to talk to her before, but now that he saw that she'd reached out to him, he felt like shrinking away again. But now that she was here, there were no other options. He'll have to speak to her.

Never taking his eyes off of her, half of Mark is angry that she thinks she can just show up here and talk to him like they're old pals. The other half of him wishes she'd done it months ago.

"Hi," he says, feeling the need to break the silence. It doesn't work; Lexie just bites her lip, looking away. For a second, Mark's sure she's about to run off again, but then she speaks.

"I have a patient," she whispers after a moment.

"Oh…kay," he replies slowly. He's been waiting for her to explain why she's here and now she's leaving for the hospital. Great. _Couldn't she have thought of a better excuse?_

"I have a patient," she repeats, her voice stronger this time.

_Yes, I heard you the first time._

"Her name is Alice. Her mom died from skin cancer last year and she just got a sentinel node biopsy."

"I'm… sorry?"

Lexie shakes her head, and Mark gets the feeling his brain is moving too slow for her taste. _But how am I supposed to have any idea what she's talking about? _He thinks, more than a little confused.

"She just has her dad left. His name is Patrick."

Mark nods, wondering where this is going.

"Their last name is O'Reilly," she tells him, taking great pause to make extreme eye contact. "Alice and Patrick O'Reilly."

Mark parts his lips to speak, but finds that he doesn't have anything to say. Not to her, at least. _Why didn't he tell me? _ Mark's eyes fly to his phone on the table to his right, but Mark knows he doesn't have the man's number. _What is my problem with not ever wanting to know anyone?_

"She's sick?" He asks a moment later, feeling his heart go out to his friend. _Why didn't he tell me? _Mark thinks again. _Oh, same reason you don't have the guy's phone number. You didn't want to know, did you?_

"We don't know," Lexie replies. "There are still some tests to do. But I hope not."

"Okay, well, thank you for telling me," Mark replies politely, trying to think of where he can find Pat. _Are they still at the hospital? _"I should probably—"

"No, that isn't…" Lexie shakes her head, and Mark pauses, despite wanting to find Pat. "Mark, that isn't why I came here."

"Well, then…" He can feel his forehead creasing in confusion. "Why did you come here?"

"I came here because he—he said something to me, Patrick did."

"He…said something to you?" Mark repeats slowly, not getting the message any clearer than before.

Lexie nods, and Mark get that strange feeling that she might cry again. "He—he told me there way a guy at his church, St.—St. James, that… came every week, praying that some woman would come back to him. He said he was a surgeon and his name was Mark and I just…" She shrugs hopelessly and Mark turns away. He can't look at her, not after she knows it all. "I—I had no idea that this is what's been happening," Lexie continues, her voice disappearing to a whisper. "Mark, believe me, _please. _I had no idea."

"He… He had no right to say that to you," he manages finally. Be can feel his perfect little hellish world shrinking and then wildly expanding around me, somehow simultaneously. He can't believe she knows everything. He can't believe Pat told her. "He had no right."

"He didn't know who he was talking to," Lexie whispers after a moment. Mark hears a shift in the floorboards, and he wonders if she's stepped forward or back. _Back, probably._ She didn't come here to comfort me, anyway.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I told you I was letting go and…" He trails off, unable to think clearly with everything he's just realized. _Oh, God, he probably told her everything. He probably said everything because he thought she was a stranger. And, shit, that's probably why Avery was pissed off before, because I've been pining after his girlfriend instead of leaving them alone like I told both of them I would._

"And you aren't letting me go," Lexie finishes quietly. Mark blinks at her words, finding his head oddly cleared. _Shouldn't she have yelled that? Isn't this the part with the yelling? _"You didn't let me go. You—you kept wishing and hoping after me… And—and praying." He can hear her sigh softly, probably in frustration or anger. But her voice is still soft—almost…_concerned_. "God, Mark, you _prayed _for me? That I'd come back to you?"

"I said I was sorry," He replies quickly. "I shouldn't have… It was stupid, okay? I'm sorry."

"No," she cuts in forcefully, and Mark finds himself turning around at her firm voice. She's standing closer than she was before. "What was _stupid _was you not talking to me about this!"

"Talking to you…" He blinks at her, twisting his head when he realizes what she's saying. "Wait, what? You wanted me to _come to you_ with all this? All this—this hopelessness bullshit? What would that have done?"

"It obviously wasn't hopeless to you. You never stopped."

"Okay, meaningless," he settles on. "Meaningless bullshit."

"Mark, if being with me was… _this _important to you… Jesus, why didn't you just _tell me _that?"

"I did. I—I told you I was letting you go. And that was hard, but I did it. That was it."

Lexie opens her mouth, but after a few seconds closes it. Her expression clouds over, and Mark knows he's about to get the yelling he's been waiting for. But still she doesn't speak. She just lifts a hand to her forehead, covering her eyes and half-turning away from him. "Jesus, Mark."

He mouths the word 'What?' but he know she can't hear or see it.

"You can't do that," she continues. "You can't just expect me to assume all that from a couple words and a little fight!"

"_Little_—" He asks, incredulous that she'd downplay what happened between them like that.

"You can't just assume that I'll know you miss me like that!" Lexie replies loudly. "You've been avoiding me for months! Why in the world would I think you still wanted me back or loved me or even _cared _about me anymore?"

He stares at her, literally speechless. He'd been prepared for yelling, but it was supposed to be _angry_ yelling. This is… Mark has no idea what this is. Frustrated? Desperate?

"When you wouldn't talk to me or look me in the eye or even be in the same _room _as me—why would I get _any_ inclination that you still cared?"

"When I…" Mark swallows trying to wrap his head around this. "When I didn't speak to you, when I didn't look at you… What? Did you think I did that because I hated you or something?"

"Yes!" Lexie shouts finally. "Yes, of course that's what I thought! We ended and then you stopped speaking to me! You didn't say one word to me, and you never even looked at me! What else was I supposed to think?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe that I couldn't _stand _to look at you because—"

"Yes, because you hate me!"

"No, because I want you!" Mark replies before he can stop himself. He groans softly, closing his eyes. "Look. The only reason I avoided you was because I couldn't bear to see you and know that you were _his _girlfriend and not mine, okay? And since that isn't going to change anytime soon, so I didn't really want to see it, or see you." _And I still don't._

"God damn it, Mark," she growls, enunciating each syllable with anger. "I'm not his girlfriend anymore. We broke up, okay? Two weeks ago, we broke up."

"You…did?"

Lexie nods, doing her best to act indifferent. "Yes."

"Well… why?" Mark asks hesitantly. Lexie shrugs, barely having the strength anymore to completely the gesture. Her act of indifference falls sadly flat, and she's sure he's noticed by now. _No point in denying the truth now,_ she reasons.

"Because he wasn't you," she whispers honestly.

"Lex…"

"So it didn't mean anything." She swallows, trying to gather her thoughts and find a way to make him see that she's serious. "But being with you… That has always meant something, Mark. It's always been real. Being with you has… always been what I've wanted. Always."

"But you said—"

"I know what I said," Lexie cuts in softly. "And you… You should know I didn't mean any of it."

Mark forces himself to breathe before speaking. "Then why did you say it?"

"Because I wanted to see if you'd stick around."

"St… Stick around?" He manages.

"I said that if you kept at me, I'd come back to you. And I—I meant it, Mark." Her lip trembles. "I wanted you to make me come back."

"No," he says, his voice barely registering at an audible decibel. "No, don't tell me that."

"But it's true," Lexie whispers. "If you had—"

He shakes his head, adamantly denouncing her words. "Do _not _tell me that if I had fought harder we'd be together. Don't do that to me. Not after all this."

"I'm not saying you haven't been trying," Lexie covers quickly. "I'm just saying that you've been doing it your own way and—"

He shakes his head, turning away. Lexie bites her lip, her pained eyes tightening at the sight of his turned back. "Mark, please," she whispers, stepping forward and putting a hand on his arm. She looks over at him, her eyebrows drawn worriedly together as she waits for him to speak.

"Don't tell me," he manages, his voice hoarse as he continues to avoid her eye. "Do not tell me that if I'd tried harder I could have kept you. Do not tell me that letting you walk away was the wrong thing to do. You—" He swallows, and Lexie can see the muscles in his throat work to remove the lump blocking his voice. "You have no idea how hard that was for me."

"I know," Lexie whispers. "I know. But…" Her lips trembles again, but she somehow manages to hold herself in check. "If you'd asked me to come back, I would have. Mark, I would've come back."

"Lex," he chokes out. "Stop. Please."

"I just want you to know," she says. "I just want you to know that I'll—I'll always come back." She smiles shakily. "I'll always be here, always coming back to you."

He sucks in a harsh breath, running a hand through his hair before shoving his hands in his pockets. His right automatically clutches a small box, hiding within his pocket. "If—If you're serious here, you should know…" He squeezes the box like a stress ball. "Lex, I won't do it all over again. I'm not starting from the beginning, I'm not repeating history. If—if you want to do this, if this is happening… This will have to be it." He swallows, unsure of her staying power. "This is the end of the road."

"I know," she replies. Despite seeing this coming, her voice eeks out, sharp and broken like nails on a chalkboard. "I know this is it."

"You can handle that?" He clarifies. "When I say this is it, I _mean_—"

"I know," she cuts in. "I know what you mean."

"So?" He asks after a second.

"I can handle it," Lexie answers. She shrugs one shoulder, a hopeless gesture. "What choice do I have, anyway?" She asks, trying to inject some levity into the conversation. But Mark is serious as ever.

"No," he corrects firmly. "I'm not forcing you into this. There's always a choice."

"Then mine's already made," she replies automatically. She watches as he closes his eyes, tracing the breath of oxygen entering and exiting his body as his chest rises and falls before his blue eyes meet hers.

"Mark, look," Lexie begins softly. "I'm serious, okay? After—after what Patrick told me, I realized I couldn't let you keep doing that to yourself anymore. I knew I had to… to do whatever I could to help you." She blinks slowly, staring at him. "You would've done the same for me. You _have _done the same for me."

"You…" He licks his lips, hating himself for saying so but knowing she needs to hear it. "You aren't responsible for me, you know."

A small smile flickers on her lips. "I feel like I am."

"You aren't," he counters firmly.

She shakes her head softly, stepping forward. Mark feels the need to step back as she moves a bit too close, but he can't seem to get his body to cooperate. It's frozen in place, so close to what he wants, and unable to heed the orders from his mind. "Apparently, I'm the only thing that makes you happy," she whispers, a sheepish look on her face. "And you deserve to be happy."

For some reason unknown to him, Mark's shaking his head and repeating his own words. "You aren't responsible for me."

"If I make you happy, then I'm responsible for you. And I've—I've never _not_ wanted to be with you. I've never wanted to be with anyone else. Not really."

Lexie watches as Mark closes his eyes at her words, and she can practically feel the tension rolling off of him as he clenches his fists together. He doesn't speak, but a moment later, he removes them from his pockets, where they'd been shoved earlier, to rub his face roughly as if trying to wash away all that's happened. A dull _thud _makes his eyes snap open a moment later. Her eyes flicker down to the sound, but she's unable to tell what fell—Mark had ducked with lightning speed to grab the object and hide it within his fist before she had a chance to see it.

"What was that?" Lexie asks, amused at his actions and trying to find something trivial to focus on. They'd been speaking too seriously for too long and whatever fell from his hand that caused him to act so oddly was sure to create a good distraction. "Your cell or something?"

"It was nothing." Mark brushes it off, half-turning away from her and his hand slips towards his pocket. She grabs his wrist before he can let go of the small object.

"What is it, Mark?" She asks with an oblivious smile. His eyes fly to hers, and she takes an instinctive step towards him when she recognizes the fear in his eyes. "Hey, Mark, what is it?" She asks softly. Her mouth tilts upwards in a consoling smile. "Come on, what're you hiding?"

"It's—"

"Not nothing," Lexie finishes for him. She covers his hand with hers, noting with curiosity that whatever in his hand seems to be covered in velvet. "Is it some or of mini fabric sample or something?" She jokes. "You redecorating?"

"It's… not that."

"Okay…" Lexie draws out the word, but Mark doesn't elaborate. She grips her hand tighter around his. "Let me see it."

He stares at her, his eyes boring into hers with an intensity that would make her back down in any other situation. _But there's no reason to back down now, _Lexie thinks_, because it isn't anything. Just some fabric or something._ She half-smiles at the idea that he'd be embarrassed to be seen picking out furniture swatches. A moment later her eyebrows draw together. _Why in the word would he be embarrassed about that?_

"Let me see it," she repeats, her voice shaking for some reason unknown to her brain. Her hand is shaking now, too, and it's as if her body has realized what's happening but her mind hasn't quite caught up. As she scans her brain for ideas, Lexie feels his hands loosen around the object. She takes it in hers, glancing up to him for a moment—his eyes are closed for some strange reason, she observes—before getting a good look at what was hidden in his hand. And when she does, it's as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Leaving the box unopened, Lexie's eyes fly to his, and she can see him flinch slightly at her exhalation of air. It's dead silent between them for a few seconds before Lexie realizes that, as slowly as time is moving for her, it must be ten times worse for him.

"M—Mark," she whispers when she can speak. "I—I—"

"You don't have to say anything," he whispers. His eyes are open now, but they're trained towards the wood floors. "Just pretend you didn't see it."

"But I did see it."

"Pretend."

"I can't," Lexie manages. "I—I can't pretend that I haven't seen this and—" She breaks off, her mind finally catching up with everything that's been happening. "When—when you said this was it—you—you were going to—to _propose,_ weren't you?" She asks incredulously. "You—you had this with you and—"

"No," Mark cuts in, spinning around. His eyes are like blue fire, trained only on her. "No, that is not what happened. I did not plan this."

"Well—well then, why did you…" She swallows. "Why do you have this if you weren't going to ask me?"

Mark sighs softly, his eyes cooling to a chill blue just as quickly as they'd sparked to life moments ago. "I've had it for a while," he confesses.

"For—for me?"

Mark nods, blinking slowly. "Yes, for you." His eyes rise to meet hers, their color and shape extremely tender. They frame the small smile on his face nicely as he answers her. "Always for you." He takes a deep breath, knowing now that his words from earlier had never rung more true. _This is it._ "Always for you, Little Grey."

"Mark, I…" Lexie's lip trembles and she feels the box shake in her hands. He holds out his to take it, but she simply reasserts her grip, clutching the small object as if it were her lifeline to reality.

"This doesn't have to happen now," he explains softly. "I wasn't even going to ask you. It slipped out, literally, it slipped out of my pocket and—"

"If it was in your pocket, you were thinking about it," Lexie interrupts quietly. "If you were carrying it around, you were definitely thinking about asking me."

"I was thinking about asking you," Mark agrees, "but that…" He gives her wide eyes a half-smile. "That was years ago."

"Years?" Lexie whispers, barely comprehending the word. "_Years_?"

Mark nods. "When we were first together, you wanted me to meet your dad." He pauses, and Lexie nods numbly, waiting. "I went to a jeweler a few days later."

He can hear Lexie's audible intake of breath, and Mark feels himself hold his own in. _If she's running again, it'll probably happen soon._

"All this time?" Lexie whispers. If possible, her brown eyes are wider than before. "All these—all these—_years_?"

Mark tries to smile. "I asked you back then, remember. I wanted to know if you'd marry—"

"That was a joke," Lexie excuses. He can hear the desperation to be right in her voice. "That was a joke," she repeats firmly.

"It was," he replies. "It was a joke at first, and then…" He takes a breath, staring her in the eyes. "And then it wasn't a joke anymore," he admits quietly. "Then it was all I thought about. Then I just kept waiting for the right moment."

"It didn't come?" Lexie guesses in a whisper, wondering why he'd never asked before now. Mark sighs softly, but his eyes remain locked with hers.

"Oh, it came. It came a lot. I was just… I was just too stupid to take advantage of the moment. I was too stupid and I let you slip away again and again."

"I'm sorry," Lexie whispers. "For putting you through that. For everything." She takes a shallow breath, the best she can manage. "I promise I won't do it ever again."

Mark nods, going along with her statement before his body freezes, mouth going dry. His gaze snap to hers, and it's his turn to stare at her wide-eyed. "What are you…"

Lexie's lips twitch at his expression, the ghost of a smile gracing her lips. "Want to ask me something?" She whispers quietly, never taking her eyes off his and setting the small box in his hand.

. . .

**_Like ships in the night_**

**_You keep passing my by_**

**_Just wasting time; trying to prove who's right_**

**_And if it all goes crashing into the sea_**

**_If it's just you and me, trying to find a light…_**

_. . ._

_Author's Note: So originally this was going to be just that first chapter, a one-shot. Then I kept writing, and it was probably going to end have a depressing ending, something like Lexie marrying Avery and Mark ending up all alone… But after seeing more of Shonda's tweets (where she wrote that she 'did not say that' ML would get back together) I realized that I couldn't do that to you guys. I won't stoop to Shonda's evil and vindictive level._

_So I decided to make this one happy :)_

_ Oh, and PS: I checked a little while ago and saw that she did say there 'was hope' for ML. _I _can only hope that she isn't lying to our faces for the millionth time._

_Also: **Please review!**__ There's probably at least one more part to this, and maybe an epilogue if I feel like it. Thank you for reading. Leave your thoughts!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

_Author's Note: This is (mostly) Mark's POV again. I quite enjoy pretending to be him. :)_

_. . ._

"_Want to ask me something?"_

I look over at her, suddenly feeling all the words I was going to stay stick in my throat, creating a block that even air can barely get through. My fingers close around the ring box, now resting in my hand, and I wonder briefly if she really just said what she did, and if she even meant it. But as I look across at her, there's a delicate, almost nervous, smile playing on her lips. It's almost not there, but I can still see it. I can tell she wasn't joking, but more than that, I can tell she's waiting for me to say something. The only problem is, I have no idea what to say.

"I… I don't have anything prepared," I manage after a moment, still half-waiting for her to bolt. I don't know why I'm giving her chance after chance to run away, but somehow I can't stop myself.

"You don't need to make a speech," she replies quietly, and I can see the kindness in her eyes. I'm trying to tell myself it isn't pity. "You just need to ask one question. You already know the answer."

"I…"

"If you think this is it, if you don't see another future for us, ask me. If you want me in your life, if you love me…" She exhales softly, and a tiny smile graces her lips. It's just a bit more defined than the last. "Mark, just ask me."

I swallow, but somehow I'm still nervous. I'm still waiting for the imminent storm clouds to fall over us; I'm still waiting for her to leave. "You're… You're not running away?" I ask carefully as my body moves involuntarily away from her. It's like I've trained myself to avoid contact with her, which, I realize, is exactly what these last few months have been about. Avoiding contact with her even though she, apparently, wanted just the opposite to happen.

"No." Her voice breaks through my thoughts and I'm brought back into our high-stakes conversation. A corner of her mouth pulls up more than the other when she realizes I hadn't been paying complete attention. "No, Mark. Not from you. Not anymore." I'm trying to piece together something to say when I see the look in her eyes change. She steps forward and reaches out, resting her hand on my arm. "Please ask me," she whispers softly, and suddenly I realize—it's in her voice, in her eyes, and written across her face—she's scared. She's scared that I'll back out, or maybe she'll back out, and she wants it to happen now. So do I.

So why is it I feel incapable of speech? Why can't I move my lips or make my vocal cords work? I'm capable of _giving _a person speech, but I can't utter one word? How is that fair?

"Ask me, please."

I can hear it in her voice now—she's getting more worried and desperate the longer I go without speaking. She's probably thinking this is a mistake, probably thinking she spoke too soon, and probably on her way to leave—but before she has a chance to, I need to ask. I need to do it now.

Right now.

"Will you marry me?" I ask before my brain has a chance to stop me.

She doesn't reply, but I understand what she's trying to say as she leans upwards, her lips meeting mine. In case I didn't grasp that as an answer, I hear her whisper, "Of course" against my lips. "Yes. Of course I will."

I think I hear myself mumble 'thank you' during the kiss, but I'm not sure if that was all in my head or not. In fact, I'm still not sure if any of this is still happening. Just hours since she said 'yes,' I feel like someone hit the fast-forward button over the last six months of my life. It's like nothing happened—we never broke up, I never broke down, and nothing was ever wrong. Somehow, I forget that I go to church. I forget about God, I forget about Pat, and I forget about everyone and everything else that have become such central aspects of my life while she was gone… And I just focus on her.

We've both gone over in detail this last half-year, and now that everything's out in the open, I feel so relieved. Everything that I'd been holding onto had been weighing me down for so long and I hadn't even noticed. But all she had to do was ask about it, remind me that it no longer mattered, and then I felt better than I'd ever imagined. All I needed to do was see that ring on her finger and a smile on her face, and that was it.

As odd as it may sound, getting engaged felt like the most natural step in the world. I still don't know why she pushed me to ask or why she answered, but at least I know she's not going anywhere. And that's all that really matters.

. . .

"Were…Were you really praying for me?" She whispers, watching my face. I sigh softly, glancing down at her briefly before directing my gaze elsewhere.

"I was," I affirm quietly.

"What did you pray for?"

"I prayed that we wouldn't give up on each other." I can feel her shift towards me in bed, my brain registering that my voice is barely audible, but I can't make myself speak louder. Not about this. "I prayed that you wouldn't leave me behind and I prayed… I prayed that we'd eventually find our way back to each other. I prayed I wouldn't give up hoping, either," I finish quietly.

"You didn't," Lexie whispers. Her voice is just as hushed as mine.

"No," I agree. "I didn't."

"You've never let go," Lexie murmurs. "You've never let go of me."

"I couldn't."

"But there wasn't…" Lexie trails off, looking away.

"What? There wasn't a chance?" I ask softly, guessing at the conclusion she doesn't want to vocalize. "Lex, there was always a chance. Unless you married him, or someone else, there would always be a chance."

"Thank you," she whispers quietly, "for not giving up."

"You're welcome," I murmur, my lips at her ear as I hold her close. "Thank you for not giving up either."

"I couldn't," she replies, and I can hear her sniff softly. "I couldn't give up. Not on you."

I lean my forehead against her temple, closing my eyes as I breath in her scent, something long-absent from my presence. "I love you," I whisper into her short hair.

"I love you too," she replies, turning her head towards mine so our eyes meet. "Always have," she whispers, lifting her left hand to cup my cheek. "Always will."

I close my eyes, leaning against her hand and loving the cool feel of the metal on my cheek. "I love you," I repeat, not knowing what else to say. She smiles over at me, kissing me softly before pulling away and lying back on the pillows. I do the same, angling my body towards her so she doesn't leave my sight.

"Will you help me get my things?" She asks a few minutes later, her eyes focused on her left hand, turning the ring this way and that and watching the diamonds sparkle.

"Hm?" I mutter distractedly, too busy watching her focus on the ring to worry about what she's saying.

"We're engaged, Mark," she replies slowly, dropping her hand to the bedspread as she stares at me as if I were an alien. "I'm not spending one more night at Meredith's." She wrinkles her nose. "Not if I have to." "Besides," she smiles, "I want to be here, with you." Her smile widens and she lifts her hand, running it through my hair as I relish in the fact that she doesn't even try to disguise her happiness. I know I'm not making the smallest attempt to hide mine. "With my fiancé," she grins, leaning forward to cover my mouth with a kiss.

. . .

"Did you tell him?" Lexie asks as we pull up to Meredith's house later the next day. I look over at her as I cut off the engine and step out of the car.

"Did I tell who what?"

"Did you tell Derek?" She elaborates. "About us? About being engaged?"

"When would I have time?" I ask, crossing the snow-covered yard and heading up onto the Grey's front porch. I open the door immediately, knowing that neither Derek nor Meredith keep it locked due to the constant flow of comings and goings about what is essentially a boarding house. I grin over my shoulder as I turn the knob. "I've been with you."

She smiles back, following me inside. "Well, you see him at work," she replies, kicking the snow off her boots and onto her sister's inner welcome mat. "You could have told him any time during the day."

"I didn't see Derek today."

"And did you not see Derek because you were avoiding him or because you actually didn't see him?" She asks, climbing up the stairs.

"Stop reading through me," I mutter, following behind her. I sigh a moment later, knowing I'll have to be honest. "Fine. I didn't see Derek because I didn't want to see him."

"Because you don't want to tell him?" Lexie asks quietly.

"No. Hey," I say, grabbing her hand as we reach the landing. "Of course I want to tell him. I just… I like keeping it between us. Just for these few days."

"We'll have to tell him sometime," Lexie replies. By the way she's smiling, though, I can tell that she sees my point of view. After all the months apart, I think she appreciates the privacy and intimacy of what we've become almost as much as I do.

"We will," I agree, following her as she leads the way down the hallway. "I just have to figure out the best way to do it first."

We spend the next couple hours packing up Lexie's belongings and moving them into the car. The frigid air outside the house forces us to run between the trunk of the car and the front door, but maybe the exercise and threat of frostbite is what made us work so quickly. We're just carrying the last couple boxes downstairs as we hear the front door open. I brace myself for Derek, but all I see is Meredith.

"Hey, Lexie," she calls, hanging up her coat. "How's—Oh." She falls silent as her eyes take in the sight before her. "What's going on here?"

"I'm moving," Lexie replies.

"I can see that," Meredith nods towards the boxes. Maybe it's my imagination, but I might've just seen her lips flick upward into a smile. But if it was there, it's gone already. "And where are you moving to?"

"I'm—"

"She's moving in with me," I answer, trying not to let this turn into a sister-versus-sister fight like I know it's deteriorated to so many times in the past. She raises her eyebrows, first at me and then at Lexie.

"You are, huh?"

Lexie sighs, hitching the box under her left and putting her right hand on the banister to support herself. "Mer, is this going to turn into a whole thing? Because all that's happening here is—"

"_What _is _that_?" She half-shouts, causing both Lexie and me jump in surprise.

"What's what?" Lexie asks.

"That," Meredith says, pointing and staring at the ring resting on her left hand.

I can hear her sigh in exasperation at her sister's reaction, but Lexie just hefts the box up again like Meredith hadn't said anything. "We're getting married," she replies. And I can't help it—a smile spreads across my face at her words.

"Married?" Mer repeats dumbly, like she's never heard the word.

"Yes, you know," I reply in a bored tone. "When two people love each other very, very much, they—"

"Oh, shut it, Sloan," she snaps, sparing an annoyed glare for me before reaching up to grab Lexie's hand and practically pull her down the staircase.

"Careful!" She shouts, almost tripping down the stairs.

"Don't break her, Grey," I call after Meredith as she drags my fiancée off the kitchen for what must be nothing short of brainwashing and interrogating the living bejesus out of her. I hang back for a few minutes, carrying the last two boxes out to the car and locking it before slowly making my way back to the Grey's kitchen.

"You two alive back there?" I call from the front door.

"Sort of," I hear Lexie call back. Meredith doesn't say anything, but I can hear her speaking quickly in an undertone to her sister. When I walk through the kitchen door, they both fall silent.

"So?" I ask, hovering in the doorway.

"She said she was happy for us," Lexie replies, a small smile on face—but it goes much deeper, I can tell. She's always looking for her sister's approval.

"I said I was happy for _you_," Meredith corrects.

"What, you can't be happy for me too?" I smirk, stepping into the kitchen.

"I can try," Meredith replies begrudgingly. "What I want to know—" she takes a moment to look hard at both of us "—is why neither of you told me."

"Mer, it just happened."

"Does Derek know?"

I shake my head. "No. I haven't seen him since it happened."

"And if Mark had _told _Derek," Lexie begins, "then you—"

"Told me what?"

I turn around, surprised to hear my best friend's voice coming in from the back door. "Um…" is all I can manage.

"What were you doing outside?" Meredith asks, her eyes narrowed suspiciously at him. "I didn't even know you were here."

"Firewood," he replies, jerking a thumb towards the backyard as he stomps the snow off his boots and pulls off his coat. "So, what am I not being told?" He asks, stepping into the kitchen. He glances between his wife and my fiancée before noticing me standing to Lexie's right. It feels so strange when I see him smile. I try to think of the last time we spoke, and I can't bring up one conversation.

"Hey, Mark. What's up?"

"Hey, Derek, I—"

"What is _up_," Meredith interrupts,"is that Lexie and Mark are getting _engaged_."

I watch his eyes go wide, but before I can say anything, Lexie's correcting her sister. "No, Mer, we _are _engaged," she stresses. "We're _getting_ married."

"Same thing," she dismisses with a wave of her hand.

"Different things," Lexie and I reply at the same time. We turn to each other, grinning.

"Jinx," I mutter as I see Derek roll his eyes.

"They've already got the couple-speak going on," he groans happily before walking towards us. He looks at Lexie, a doting smile on his face, as he bends forward to hug her.

"Congratulations, Little Grey," he tells her.

"Thanks, Derek," she replies warmly. "Thank you," she repeats when they pull apart. He smiles at her for a second more before seeming to notice me for the first time despite addressing me just a minute ago.

"Finally!" He calls loudly, pulling me into a hug too. I catch Lexie's eye over his shoulder, wondering if she told him, but she shakes her head no.

"Finally?" I ask a moment later as we step apart. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Derek shares a look with his wife before his eyes settle on mine again. "We've been waiting for you two to get your act together," he smiles, chuckling. "You're as bad as Meredith and I were."

"Derek," his wife reprimands.

He grins, turning towards her. "Oh, come on, Mer! It's true. You gotta admit."

She rolls her eyes. "Fine," she mutters after a moment. "You two are just as clueless as we were."

I glance at Lexie, and seeing the smile on her face, I know that they're right. We were clueless, but that doesn't mean we have to admit it.

"_No one _is as bad as you two," I argue at the same time Lexie protests, "Oh, no way."

"Right, sure," Derek laughs, crossing the room to stand by me. A minute later, his wife and my fiancée are hugging and when Lexie catches my eye, I can see the half-hidden joy in her eyes. They pull back and begin discussing wedding plans.

"Nice ring," Derek comments in my ear as they move forward to hug each other again. Watching them, I can't remember one time when I've seen them hug. "Where'd you get it?"

"I've had it for a while," I shrug.

"A while?" Derek asks, turning to me with a smile. "What do you me—"

"What's going on?" A voice interrupts. "What's with the hugging?"

All eyes in the room fall on Jackson, and though we're standing a foot apart, I can sense Lexie tense at my side. And I remember for a split second what it was like without her. And though I know there's no way he's going through anything like what I survived through, he's still going through something. So I bite my tongue, take a second, and then speak.

"We're getting married," I reply, trying to keep my voice objective and a smile off my face. No need to torture the guy. "Lexie and I," I clarify a moment later so he doesn't have to ask.

"Congratulations," he replies automatically. A few seconds later, a polite smile covers his face.

"Thank you," Lexie and I reply simultaneously. Derek doesn't make a comment about us acting like a couple as we speak jointly this time.

"Well, I've…" He steps away. "I've got to go to work," he excuses quickly.

We all nod, watching in silence as he heads to the front door. Lexie and I chat with Meredith and Derek for a half hour more before excusing ourselves as well. It's been a long day, and we'll still have to unpack everything once we both get home.

"Thank you for not making that awkward," Lexie says as we walk to the car.

"With Avery?" I clarify as we walk to the car. She nods, taking my hand.

"You could have been an ass about it, but you weren't." She looks over at me, a proud smile on her face. "You handled that very well."

"What, you think I can't deal with an ex-boyfriend or two?"

"I _know _you can't deal with an ex-boyfriend or two. But that's okay." She smiles, squeezing my hand. "Because I know I wouldn't be able to deal with any of your ex-girlfriends."

"You won't have to," I assure her. There's no use in reminding her that I've never really had that many girlfriends, just copious amounts of one-night stands and some casual sex here and there. I shake my head, hardly being able to believe that that's who I used to be.

"You've changed," she tells me softly. I stare at her, and for a second, I think that she's read my mind.

"I have," I reply after a moment. We've reached the car now, but before I let go of her hand to get the keys, I lean towards her and kiss her. "And it's because of you."

_. . ._

_Six days later…_

_. . ._

"Where are you going?" Lexie smiles from the bed, looking me up and down. "All dressed up?"

"It's Sunday," I reply, buttoning my shirt before grabbing my navy jacket from the closet.

Her face remains unchanged, and it takes me a moment to realize why. Attending church has become such an important part of my life in these past few months, I tend to forget no one I know is religious on a regular basis. Off the top of my head, I can't think of one person who would understand what it being Sunday means.

"I'm going to church," I elaborate.

"Oh," Lexie replies quietly. That small word holds so much meaning, yet I can't hear any of it. I just watch her face fall slightly before a quick smile covers it. "You're, uh, you're still going, then?" She asks, staring up at me.

"I am," I reply, suddenly terribly afraid this might be a sticking point between us. What am I supposed to do if she doesn't support what's become a vital part of my life? I needed this hope before, and I still need it now. Besides waking up to her beside me every morning for the past seven days, going to church and praying are what has continued to give me hope that this isn't some sort of crazy delusion. Just because she's back—just because she'll never leave—doesn't mean that I'm allowed to give up. She might not, but I still need to believe. I still need to give thanks and be grateful for my second chance—_our _second chance. Trying to push my worry away, I give her a small smile. I know she'll see through my words. "I think I have a few things to be thankful for," I remind her quietly. Her lips twitch into a little smile before she speaks, and I'm grateful she doesn't push the subject.

"How long will you be gone?" She questions.

"About an hour and a half. Not long." I glance at my watch, seeing that it's almost nine. "I've gotta go, Lex." She looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to take off, but I'm hesitating between the bed and the door. "You'll be okay?"

"What, here?" She smiles, and I can hear her stifle a laugh quietly. "Of course. Go ahead. Besides," she grins, wiggling the fingers of her left hand before her, "I've got this beautiful ring to keep my me company."

I chuckle, taking a couple steps forward and leaning towards her. "Good," I reply, kissing the smile on her face. I can feel the cool metal of the ring against my cheek as she draws my face towards hers with both hands.

"Love you," she whispers before pulling back, still holding my face in her hands.

"Love you too," I reply, straightening up and letting her hands fall. I stare at her for a moment, knowing there's more I want to say, but not being able to voice it.

"You can go," she prompts me softly. "I'll still be here when you get back."

I close my eyes briefly, and when my blink comes full circle, she's still there, lying in loose pajamas against the sheets.

"Go on," she smiles, waving towards the door. "You'll be late."

"I know," I nod, turning towards the front door. "Bye."

"Bye," she calls, bunching her knees up in front of her. She wraps her arms around her legs, resting her head on her knees as she watches me go. I look back over my shoulder as I open the front door, and I know if Pat wasn't at the church waiting for me, I never would have left.

. . .

"Hey," Pat calls, shaking my hand in greeting. We do this every week; it's as if we're being re-introduced each Sunday. It used to bother me, but now I don't mind so much. His handshakes are like being asked to belong, each and every week. There was a time when I held onto that grasp, when I lunged for that offer of inclusion, but now, it's simply a light welcoming gesture.

"How are you?" He asks, walking with me towards where we usually sit to the right side of the cathedral.

"Good," I reply with what I know must look like a stupid smile. I feel like I've been wearing it on my lips for years and not just a week. "I'm really good." I always say I'm 'good,' but for the first time in months, I mean it. And as I knew he probably would, Pat takes notice. I can feel him staring at me as I avoid his eye.

"What happened?" He asks, stepping into our regular pew. I know he can tell something's different. As always, he doesn't sit down right away, but leads the way to the far end of the pew.

"I'm, uh…" I smile down at the floor, instinctively putting my hands into my pockets only to find there's nothing there. Just a week ago, I would have panicked that I'd lost the ring, something that had been my only lifeline to her. But now I know exactly where it is. "I'm getting married."

Almost running into the man in front of me causes my eyes to snap up from my feet. My head jerks back slightly, and I glance over to Pat, seeing the other man's eyes open wide. After a couple seconds, he manages to blink and opens his mouth. I have to force myself not to laugh at his expression.

"Married?" He asks, his chin dipping downward to accentuate his disbelief. His tone is so incredulous, he almost sounds like Derek. With that sort of response, it's like he knows my past and who I really am. Well, who I _used to _be, at least. "To who?" He inquires quickly, staring hard at me. I would be able to pick out the calculating look in his green eyes even without seeing it.

"You don't know who she is," I excuse. Part of my brain registers that this is a lie, but still it doesn't stop me. Though he knows so much already, I'm sick of just _telling him_ about Lexie. He should be able to meet her, speak to her, and know her for himself instead of just through me. He needs to know her, I suddenly realize. He needs to.

"Yes, I figured," Pat notes dryly, bringing me back from my thoughts. "We don't have very many mutual friends." I can still feel him staring. "Who is it?"

"Let's just say I found someone I lost," I reply quietly, smiling at the ground, "and leave it at that."

He doesn't speak for a few seconds, and I'm about to look up when I'm almost knocked to the ground. His hug feels more like a tackle from an NFL football player than a bear-like clasp from a fifty-five-year-old man, but I'll take what I'm given.

I hug him back anyway and smile, wondering if he knows his own strength or hugging me was just something he had to do. People are probably staring, so I close my eyes against them and relish the moment. Though we've shared few details about our personal lives, never really touched besides shaking hands each week, and neither of us has ever seen the other outside of the cathedral, Pat's been more of a father to me these last few months than my real father's been all my life. He deserves a hug back and, I realize with a grin, an invite to the wedding. I file that idea away, knowing I'll have to explain it all to Lexie soon.

Pat pulls back a moment later, his hands hovering above my shoulders like he doesn't know where to put them. After a moment of indecision, he pats me there firmly and I have to chuckle quietly at his behavior. We slip into our seats without another word, and as the priest begins the service, I feel Pat shift beside me. I glance over, surprised to see him staring me right in the face. He's one of the most focused people I've ever seen; when he's at church, he's at church—and that's it. I've never once heard him speak aloud while mass is being held, except to say 'Peace be with you' at the appropriate moment, and I've never seen him look away from the pulpit. But now he's speaking, his eyes focused on mine, and I can only half-listen to the opening hymn being sung by the congregation around us.

"Mark," he begins quietly, breaking his unshakable rule of never speaking once the service has started. "I… I am _so_ _happy_ for you," he tells me, his voice full to the brim with what I suspect is only half-spoken emotion.

I tip my head towards him in a small nod, my eyes flicking to the service before answering. "Thank you," I reply softly. "That means a lot, Pat. Really."

He stares at me for a minute more, like he's trying to decide whether or not to say something else, before turning back to the priest. We don't speak again about what I'd told him, but he hugs me hard during the sign of peace, again replacing our customary handshake. I can't help but smile at him when this happens, even though part of me is wondering how hopeless I must've looked to him just mere weeks ago to elicit this sort of response. How detached and disconsolate I must've seemed. But then he mentions Lexie, and it's all forgotten.

"I expect to be meeting this girl, you know," he informs me as we follow the mob of people walking slowly to the exit. I glance over, smiling, to see him regarding me as seriously as before. "This woman that's made you look alive again."

"You'll meet her," I reply with a smile.

"Bring her to church next week."

I frown, remembering how strange she'd acted when I told her where I was going this morning. "I don't think," I begin.

But Pat shakes his head. "Don't back out on me now," he cuts in. I nod, my mind already thinking of ways I could casually bring this up to Lexie without her feeling uncomfortable and obligated about it. I'm just feet from the chilly Seattle air when an arm pulls me back.

"I'm serious." He stares at me hard, and I realize this is one of the few times I've seen him act so solemn after the service. I wonder if this is how Lexie sees him during the week, if he's this grave at the hospital. "I want to meet her. I need to know who she is. I need to know that she's…" He trails off, but I already know what he was going to say. _I need to know that she's good enough for you._ I already know the answer, and he should too.

"You will," I reply, my voice quiet, almost somber. "I'll—I'll bring her next week."

He inclines his head forward, studying me. A second later, he snaps out of it, and a smile lights up his face and brightens his green eyes. He removes his hand from my arm and shoves both of them into his pockets. "Good, then," he says, heading out onto the snowy steps. "I'll see you two next week."

"Bye, Pat."

. . .

When I get home a little under two hours later, Lexie's sitting at the counter, bent over a bowl of cereal and a magazine.

"Hey," I call, slipping off my jacket and laying it across the counter. "I'm back."

"Hi," she replies, turning her head towards the door as it shuts behind me. "How was church?" She asks, taking a bite of her cereal while I prepare my own breakfast.

"It was good." I put a bagel in the toaster, pushing down the plunger before turning around to face her. "I, uh, I'd like it if you came with me next week."

Her eyes widen at my words, and she coughs slightly. While she takes a second to compose herself, I realize that I probably should have waited until she was done chewing to spring something like that on her. "C—Came with you?" She asks, leaving her spoon in the bowl and tucking her hair behind her ears with both hands. "…Why?"

"Well, uh, Pat wanted to meet you," I begin, unsure of what to say. "He suggested you come next Sunday, so you guys could meet."

"We already know each other," she replies. "We've met."

"Yeah, but you haven't met him in relation to me."

She stares at me for a quiet minute. The only sound that breaks the silence is my bagel popping up from the toaster's depths, but I ignore it, choosing instead to wait until she gives me an answer. It comes just a few seconds later.

"Okay." She meets my eyes across the counter. "I'll go with you."

"Thank you," I reply, surprised to feel my whole body relax at her words. Apparently I'd been standing, tensed like a cat, as I waited for her to reply. I turn and grab my bagel as I hear her return to her own breakfast.

"I wanted to ask you about that, by the way," she continues as I grab some cream cheese from the fridge. "I'm checking up on his daughter on Wednesday. Am I supposed to say anything to him?"

"Well," I reply as I spread cream cheese across my bagel. "You'll see him on Sunday, so… No?"

"What if he asks me who I'm marrying?"

I feel my lips curve upwards at the question, and for a moment I'd like to say 'me.' I almost do, but I stop, pausing to think. "Maybe just don't tell him," I suggest after a moment.

"Mark."

My back is to her as I put the cream cheese back in the fridge, but I can clearly hear the frustration in her voice. Instead of answering, I just bring my breakfast to the other side of the counter, sitting on her left.

"He wanted to meet you, Lex, okay? And if he figures out he's known you all along, he will _not _be happy with me."

"He should know who I am."

"And he _will_ know. On Sunday."

She sighs, obviously annoyed at the subterfuge she's been enlisted to carry out, but doesn't say anything else. We finish out food while chattering about trivial aspects of work, and it's only after she's put her bowl in the sink that she brings it up again.

"If he asks me who I'm marrying I'm not going to lie to him, okay?"

I was about to get up and put my plate in the sink as well, but her words make me stop. I'm standing on the opposite side of the island when I catch sight of the determined look on her face. I tilt my head to the side, asking her silently just to go along with this.

"I won't," she replies.

"Fine," I mutter, meeting her by the sink and depositing my plate within it. "Tell him. Ruin this for me, why don't you?"

"Ruin what?" She asks, confused.

"Oh, come on, Lex." I smile, brushing her short bangs out of her eyes, something that's become a habit for me recently. I still can't decide if I like her with longer or shorter hair. But she's here with me, so it doesn't really matter what she looks like. "It'll be fun to see his face," I tell her, my hands drifting to her waist as she crosses her arms. "It'll be _fun,_" I whisper, drawing out the word into two syllables as I lean towards her. She glances up to glare at me, but I kiss her instead of speaking, slowly and hopefully persuasively. One of her hands lifts to pull me closer, and she tugs my face closer every few seconds.

"Fine," she agrees begrudgingly after a moment, separating her lips from mine.

"Thank you." I smile, kissing her quickly before stepping back and letting go of her waist. I'm about to walk away when her hand grabs mine, pulling me to a stop.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I point over my shoulder to the bedroom. "I was going to change." I smile a second later when I recognize the look in her eye. "I'll be right back," I assure her.

"No, I'll come with you," she grins, walking past me and leading me by the hand to out bedroom. "You might need help getting all these clothes off."

"Oh, I'm incapable of undressing myself, then?" I smirk, following after her.

"No." She looks over her shoulder, catching my eye with a grin so wide I can almost see all her teeth. She laughs a second later, and I get the impression that if she wasn't towing me along, she'd be skipping. "I just prefer doing it."

_. . ._

_"What do you do there?" She whispers, breaking me out of my almost-attainted grasp on sleep later that night._

_ "What do I do where?" I yawn, blinking in the darkness and looking over to see her lying beside me. I wonder when I'll stop being surprised, so grateful to see her there. If such a time ever comes, that is._

_ "At the church," she clarifies. Her eyes are large and they're the only bright things in the dark room. "What… What do you do there?"_

_ "I pray," I reply automatically, surprised at the curiosity in her voice._

_ "For…?"_

_ "For…" I sigh, closing my eyes with a self-indulgent smile. "You know what?" I ask, opening my eyes and turning towards her. I reach up and brush her short bangs out of her eyes. "I'm not sure anymore."_

_ She smiles tentatively at me before tilting her head forwards and kissing me softly. "I love you."_

_ "I love you too."_

_ "And I was just wondering, you know."_

_ "I know."_

_ "It's okay if you don't want to tell me."_

_ I stare at her, breathing deeply as my hand trails down her face. "You're sure?" I whisper quietly. "Don't you…want to know?"_

_ She shakes her head. "Only if you want to tell me."_

_ "So you want to know," I conclude._

_ "I only want to know if you want to tell me, Mark. I don't want to push you. And besides," she adds. "Whoever said you had to tell me? Prayers can be private."_

_ "Not always," I reply, recalling the first time I met Pat. She smiles in the darkness, and I can tell she's thinking about the same thing._

_ "Still," she replies, leaning forward to kiss me before situating her body beside mine. "I don't need to know."_

_ "You sure?"_

_ "I'm sure," she replies, snuggling her body against mine. I lift an arm, drawing her close as she yawns. Our apartment is quiet for minutes, before I say her name softly._

_ "Hm?" She mutters in response, already more asleep than awake. I take a breath, hoping that voicing the truth won't make my prayers obsolete._

_ "I pray that nothing changes from the way it is now," I tell her quietly. I'm sure she's fallen asleep until I see her arm wrap around my stomach._

_ She mumbles. "I don't want anything to change, either," she mumbles. And with a yawn, she adds, "I'll pray too."_

_ "I know you don't pray," I reply with a smirk she can't even see. I feel her shoulders shrug against mine._

_ "You don't that," she yawns, shifting her head to a more comfortable position beside me. She doesn't elaborate, and when I whisper her name a few minutes later, I know she's already asleep. So I silently thank God for the perfect woman and hold her close before succumbing to sleep myself._

. . .

_Sunday_

. . .

"We're late," Lexie mutters worriedly as we half-run up the cathedral's steps. "Oh, we're late. We're really, really late."

"We're not _that _late," I reply, pulling the door open. "We're—"

I break off as we enter the church, finding, in fact, that we are incredibly late. And our entrance brought a huge gust of wind with us, making the entire congregation turn towards the opening door and finding us standing in front of it. I see Lexie's face turn bright red, and she mouths 'sorry' exaggeratedly to the onlookers before I pull her along to one of the farthest back rows.

"I told you we were late," she mutters as we settle into our seats. "I told you!"

"Yeah, well, I wasn't the one laying around all morning," I reply quietly, pulling off my winter coat quickly.

"Hey, it's _your _fault I got no sleep last night," she argues. "If you hadn't wanted to—"

"Sh!" Someone interrupts, turning around to glare at her. Lexie's blush from before immediately returns as she falls silent. I have to hold back a laugh, but I watch with amusement as she falls completely silent, facing forward, and doesn't once attempt to catch my eye.

. . .

"Pat," I call an hour later. "I have someone I'd like you to meet."

Patrick O'Rilley excuses himself from the man he was speaking with before turning towards my voice. His head twists around as he steps away from the conversation, knowing exactly what I'm talking about. "Oh yeah? Who—Oh, hi, Dr. Grey." He smiles warmly at her. "What are you doing here?"

I try to shift the set of my smile to a less amused degree as I meet my friend's eye. "Pat," I say, catching his attention. He looks at me expectantly, as if waiting for me to produce a long-lost girlfriend out of thin air. "This is Lexie." While introducing her, I pace a light hand on her lower back, hoping he'll get the message. As if becoming aware of what I'm trying to do, Lexie smiles kindly at him, patiently waiting for the realization to hit.

And a moment later, it does. I watch with half-concealed enjoyment as his eyes widen, first taking in Lexie and then flying to me. A smile spread over his face as he opens his mouth to speak, but a second later he just shakes his head and closes it.

"It's good to see you again," Lexie offers. She glances between us for a second before stepping back. "I will, uh, give you guys a moment. I'll be over there." She points behind us to a gathering of churchgoers.

"No, no, wait just a minute," he calls, waving her back. "I have a few questions for you."

"For me?" Lexie asks, and I can hear the worry in her voice.

"Pat," I cut in. "Go easy on her."

"It's just a few questions," he tries playing it off on me. I just shake my head, but knowing nothing's going to change his mind, I kiss Lexie's cheek quickly before giving them some space. She looks bewilderedly from me to him, but before I can assure her that he won't interrogate her, Pat ushers her away. I stand back, just watching with a smirk as she forces a smile to my friend before throwing me a _how-could-you-do-this-to-me _look over her shoulder. I mouth _you'll be fine_, but she just shakes her head.

. . .

"So."

"So?" Lexie asks tentatively, waiting for God knows what to begin already. But Pat just smiles over at her, shaking his head happily. "You've been holding out on me, Dr. Grey."

"Mark told me not to—"

He waves a hand. "Oh, who cares what he told you?"

She cracks a smile at his carefree attitude. She's never seen him so happy or so upbeat. "I was going to tell you, you know. I said I wouldn't lie to you if you asked."

"Oh, yeah?"

She nods, smiling once at him before her face turns serious. "And I… Mr. O'Rielly, I wanted to say thank you. If you hadn't said what you did, if you hadn't told me what was going on, it would have taken so much longer. I would never have known."

"Dr. Grey—"

"Lexie," she corrects.

He nods. "Lexie. Look, _I _didn't do anything. This is all on you two. He wanted you back; you came back. You both did your part. All I did was spread the news."

"No," Lexie shakes her head, her face and opinions set. "You told me, you helped him, and you did more than your part. And if you'd never told me what he was going through, I would never have known he was waiting like that. I would never have guessed. And without you, I'm sure he wouldn't still have his faith. I know you don't think it's important to me, and neither does Mark, but… If it's important to him, I can make it important to me, too."

"That man loves you," Pat informs her, coming to a stop. His voice firm as his eyes stare into hers.

"I know," Lexie replies seriously. "I know he does." She stares right back at the older man. "Trust me, I—"

"And after this," Pat cuts in, "I'm sure I'm correct in saying you love him too."

Lexie smiles, suddenly finding she doesn't know what to say. Though she hadn't been outright seeking it, Patrick O'Rielly's approval seemed to be something, now that she had it, she realized she wouldn't be able to survive without it. She didn't like to think what Mark would say if this man who obviously means so much to him didn't approve of her.

"Mr. O'Rielly, can I… Can I just ask you something?"

Pat nods his approval.

"Was he really… Was he really praying for me? That I'd come back?"

"I think you should speak to him about that," Pat replies, slightly guarded.

"I have," Lexie says. "He's told me everything. I just… I'm wondering if it's all true."

"You doubt him?"

"Of course not," Lexie replies quickly. "Of course I don't. I just… I just want to know."

Pat sighs softly. "Yes. He was." He stares at a spot over Lexie's shoulder. "The first time I met him, he was sitting alone, right over there—" He points to a pew a few rows back from a statue of the Virgin Mary— "praying that he wouldn't lose you. He was praying to God that you wouldn't be the one that got away. He loved you that much."

Lexie looks away, even though she can feel Pat's eyes on her. She blinks slowly, wiping the corners of her eyes.

"Hey," Pat smiles, putting a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. I hadn't meant to…"

"No, I—I know," Lexie replies, forcing a smile as well. "I know. I just…" She bites her lip, meeting the older man's eyes. "I hate thinking of him like that," she admits. "That desperate, and that… that _lost_. And I…" She blinks, drawing an uneven breath. "And I had no idea. I—I never would have guessed. I would never have thought he would do something like this."

Pat gives her a small smile, patting her shoulder again. "I was pretty surprised too, and I barely know him."

"You know him," Lexie argues softly. "You—you really know him."

"Not as well as you do," he smiles.

"No. But…" She licks her lips. "Maybe better. Maybe you know him better."

"Dr. Grey…"

"I'm not saying that's a bad thing," she tells him, instantly worried he took it the wrong way. "I don't mean I want to know him like you do. That's—that's between you and him and I respect that. It's—it's a good thing. The relationship he has with you, it's…amazing. It's just…" She exhales briefly. "He loves you, you know that? He loves you."

Pat stares at her blankly for a few second, opening his mouth to speak but not having anything to say. It takes him a few more seconds before he can close it again, and when he does, he turns around to scan the crowd. Lexie watches as his eyes search for Mark, and when Pat finds him, he turns back to Lexie.

"I think you mean he loves you," he manages quietly.

"No," Lexie replies. She smiles at Mr. O'Rielly's astounding obliviousness. She thought he would have sensed this right off the bat. "I meant you. You were there for him when no one else was."

"God was there for him when no one else was," he corrects, his eyes wandering to the large cross hanging from the ceiling above the altar.

"Then maybe you're one in the same," Lexie suggests, watching as Pat's eyes widen at her words. "I just mean that, to him, maybe you represented that. You were someone to confide in, someone that could give him advice, and someone that was always there. You were his own personal God on earth."

"I'm sure that's sacrilege," Pat manages after a moment.

"Or maybe it's saintliness," Lexie suggests. She smiles at the older man. "You're a god to him and a saint to me. You can see yourself whatever way you want, but that's what you are to us."

"I…" Pat's voice drifts off, and the two stand next to each other, alone with their thoughts. It takes Pat a full minute to respond. "Dr. Grey, I'm not sure I know what to say to that."

She looks down smiling as she tucks her bangs out of her eyes. "Well, you can start by calling me Lexie."

Pat looks over to her, and she can see the curiosity in his eyes. "That's my name," she reminds him. "And we're not in the hospital, so I see no need to be formal."

He smiles, turning to walk back towards the back end of the church. "If we're done being formal, then," he continues as she walks beside him, "feel free to call me the Lord Almighty."

Lexie laughs, clapping a hand over her mouth as the sound reverberates within the almost empty space. "I thought you said that was sacrilege," she kids a moment later.

"It's a joke, so I think we'll be alright," Pat smiles as they pass the last few rows of pews before the exit. Mark is staring at them from the door, a calculating look in his eyes.

"I sure hope you weren't laughing about me," he notes, trying to be serious but ending up with a grin on his face. It ruins the effect of his words, but he can't help but mind, not when the two most important people in his life seem to be getting along.

"Of course we were laughing about you," Lexie replies, smiling over at him. "Who else is so easy to make fun of?"

"Thanks, Little Grey, that was nice of you."

"We were just bonding," Pat replies. He eyes Mark with a smile, and his tone seems to challenge the other man to contradict him. "That's a good thing isn't it?"

Mark merely smiles, flicking his eyes upwards in a quick eye-roll before answering, "Sure. It's a good thing," he replies, trying to act careless. Both Patrick and Lexie can see it means the world to him, though.

. . .

"So," Pat begins as we walk down the side aisle of the cathedral. I can hear the smile in his voice, almost as clearly as his words. "You're getting married, huh?"

I can't help myself from grinning. "Looks like it," I reply.

"That's fantastic," he informs me, stating the words seriously, as if I didn't already know. "That's just…" He shakes his head, and I look over as his voice trails off. "This is all I've wanted for you since I first met you, you know."

"What?" I smile with a half-chuckle, catching his eye. "You wanted me to get married?"

"No." His voice is quiet and firm, and I know it isn't time for jokes anymore. His eyes lift to mine as he stops walking, his hand resting on the back of a pew behind him. I quickly wipe the smile from my face, watching and waiting for what he's going to say next. But a moment later, he's put his back to me, turning his head far to the left. I try to follow his gaze, but my eyes only go so far, stopping to rest on a beautiful brunette with short, dark hair. The woman I have the privilege of calling my fiancée and whom I will soon be able to call my wife.

"That." Pat's voice jerks me out of my head, causing my eyes to snap to his face. His back is away from me again, and his finger is pointing at me. I freeze for a second, unsure of what he's talking about. But a second later, half of his mouth tips upward and he shakes his finger towards my face in approval for a moment before letting it drop. "That's what I've wanted."

"What?" I ask, not being able to stop myself from smiling when I hear Lexie's quiet laugh from the other end of the church. I glance over my shoulder as we walk, glimpsing a wide smile on her face as she jokes with some of the women from the congregation.

"I've wanted you to be happy."

"I'm happy."

"I know. I know you are." He smiles, and his words have a completely genuine ring that I've only ever heard Pat pull off without sounding fake or forced. He's staring at me when I finally look back over. "She's the first thing you look for when you get a free moment," he explains softly as we continue our tour of the cathedral, much like he just did with Lexie. "She's the one that makes you smile without even speaking. She's the one."

"I know." I look down, more out of habit than embarrassment, and smile. "I know she's the one."

As we make our way back to the entrance of the cathedral in silence, I stop about twenty feet from the doors. The last few stragglers have left, and Lexie's the only one waiting inside. Her back is to us, though, and she's reading the newsletters posted on a rolling bulletin board in the back.

"I'll see you around, then," Pat smiles, once again drawing my attention back to him and away from my fiancée. I smile as I look over.

"I'll be here next week," I reply. "You know that."

"Well, you were late today," he says. "Who knows if you'll ever be back."

He's smiling, but when I speak, there's no accompanying smile on my face. "I'll be back," I reply quietly. He nods, watching me.

"Good man," he says before pulling me into a hug.

"I'll never forget what you did for me," I tell him as we hug in goodbye. When we both pull away, I can see the confusion in his eyes.

"What I did for you?" He asks a moment later. I watch his eyes flicker to something behind me and then back to my face. "What did I do?"

I laugh lightly, staring at him. It feels amazing to finally joke about the past few months, like nothing has happened. "Everything," I reply, holding his gaze. "You've done everything for me."

"I haven't done a thing," he excuses. "I told the same thing to—"

"Regardless of how you see it," I cut in, "I won't ever forget that _you_ were the person that brought her back to me."

"Mark, I didn't _do_ anything," he excuses again, his tone more forceful this time. "I just mentioned you, and I didn't even know it was her that I was speaking to you. Your actions are what brought her back."

I shake my head, my feet halting in our walk. "No. You did this for me." I stare at him. "I will never forget what you've done, Pat. Ever."

He sighs, and as he shakes his head with a little smile, I know he sees this round as lost. He'll let me thank him, for now at least, without protest. Part of me wonders if I'll ever be able to speak to him without just wanting to hug him for all that he's done for me. Knowingly or unknowingly, he's made the biggest impact on my life of anyone I've ever met besides the woman I'll be marrying.

And that's when I realize he deserves some recognition for it.

. . .

"What did Pat say?" Lexie asks after we all wave good-bye. We're walking down the snowy streets; we're about the only two out in the slushy weather.

"He said he was happy to see me happy."

Lexie smiles, looking over and catching my eye. "That man must be reading my mind."

I grin back. "You like seeing me happy, huh?"

"I _love _seeing you happy," she smiles. She takes my hand a moment later, looking over questioningly. "He's invited, right?" She asks as we near the car.

"What?"

"To the wedding," Lexie clarifies. "Pat will be there, won't he?"

"He will," I reply, unable to think of any other person I would rather have supporting me when that day comes. I glance over at Lexie. "Actually," I murmur, "I was going to ask him if he'd be my best man."

"Oh_,_" Lexie smiles. "_Really_?"

"Really," I reply, idyll wondering if she knows what seeing her smile like that does to me.

"He would love that."

"I thought so."

"What about me?" She asks a moment later. "I have no idea who I want to be my maid of honor."

"Hm," Mark smiles. "How about Yang?"

Lexie bursts out laughing, and the giggles continue escaping even after she's covered her mouth with her hand. "No way," she grins.

"Why not? She's supportive," Mark jokes.

"She'd probably trip me as I was going down the aisle," Lexie laughs.

"No, she'd already be at the front. You'd trip over your own feet."

"Oh, god," Lexie moans. "Knowing me, that probably _would_ happen."

"It's not going to happen," I assure her. "You'll be perfect, and you'll get to the altar in one piece." I stare at her. "You better," I threaten a moment later.

"Yeah, and you better not get cold feet," Lexie replies, her voice just as firm as mine. She pokes me in the arm. "I will not be humiliated in front of all those people just because _you_ get skittish."

"Skittish?" I protest. "What am I, a horse?"

"You're afraid of commitment," Lexie replies, taking my hand.

"Excuse me, I believe _I _proposed to you."

"Yeah, after I practically had to force the words out of your mouth," Lexie smiles.

"I was shocked is all," I defend myself. "You caught me by surprise. You can't just spring something like that on me."

"And now you know how us _girls_ feel," Lexie says. "You men get months and _years-" _she glances to me, smiling "-to think about asking, but we have to make a decision in about one second. Now how is that fair?"

"It isn't," I reply, remembering when I'd asked her. "But believe me, it's just as hard asking as it is answering."

"Hmpf, good thing I did both," she mutters, pretending to act affronted. But then I feel her squeeze my hand and I look over to see a grin light up her face. "Between us two, I'm the real savior of this relationship."

"That you are," I manage a second later, smiling and wondering if she knows just how true her words are.

. . .

"Mr. O'Rielly!" Lexie calls, almost chasing him to the door as he walks with his daughter out into the cold morning air.

"Yes, Dr.—" He breaks off, and noticing it's her, changes his question. "Lexie?"

"Hi," she replies, smiling at his now-officially-healthy daughter before turning to Pat. "I, um, I wanted to ask you something."

He looks at her expectantly, waiting for her to speak.

"I, um, I know this isn't—isn't related to Alice's case or anything—"

"Well, that's good," he interrupts with a smile.

"Right," she replies. "But I… I was, uh, I was thinking about it a few days ago and…" She smiles, embarrassed at her rambling for a moment before looking the man before her straight in the eye. "I want to know if you think Mark would want to get married at the cathedral. We haven't picked a place yet, but I thought…" She shrugs. "I don't know. I thought it would be nice."

Pat smiles widely at her. "I think that's a wonderful idea."

"Really?" Lexie asks, relief evident in her voice. "You sure?"

"Of course," he replies. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well, I… I mean, he was here when we were…" She looks away. "I wasn't sure if it was a good idea, is all."

"It's a perfect idea," Pat assures her. "He'd love it."

"Thank you," she replies gratefully. "I'll suggest it, then."

. . .

"Mark, I have a question about the wedding."

"Yeah?" I ask, looking over to her.

"Did you have a certain place in mind? For the ceremony?"

I stares at her blankly for a moment before shaking my head. Though I'm obviously excited for the event, wedding planning is not my thing. I'm pretty sure all I'm in charge of is my own outfit. But, venues? Already? "No… Not really. Why?"

"Well, because…" She takes a couple steps towards me. "I was wondering if you wanted to have it at St. James. At the cathedral."

A smile spreads across my face. "That's a great idea." I hadn't even thought of this.

"Really?" She asks, and I can hear the worry evaporate from her voice. "You think so?"

"It's perfect," I reply. "Thank you."

"It isn't… It isn't a bad place to go?" She asks hesitantly. "It isn't a bad place to—to go back to?"

"I was there just a few days ago with you, Lex."

"No, I mean…" She swallows, sitting down beside me at the counter. "Mark, you went there in the first place because you had nowhere else to go and no one to turn to. And I… I don't want the rest of our life together to start there if you won't be focused on the future."

"Who said I was focused on the past?"

"I just want this to be perfect," Lexie whispers. "After everything that's happened, after everything we've been through, I want this to be a happy day."

"It will be a happy day."

"I don't want you to be sad."

"I won't be sad." I study her for a moment. "Unless you are, though."

Lexie shakes her head immediately. "No, I won't be. I think it'd be a great place to get married. It's a beautiful church. I just… I didn't want to be intrusive. It's your place."

"So what's mine isn't yours, I take it?"

"Mark. You know what I mean, okay? I just wanted to make sure it was okay with you."

"It's okay with me."

"So it's settled?"

"It's settled," I reply, sealing the conversation with a kiss.

. . .

"Are you okay?" I ask worriedly, still waiting for something to go wrong. "Are you tired? Sick?"

"Yes, I'm tired," Lexie replies, stepping inside the apartment as I lock the door behind us. I can hear her exasperation with me through her tone. "It was a long day." I've been asking the same questions over and over again the whole ride home. "But sick?" She questions, looking over her shoulder at me. "Why would I be sick?"

"Maybe you ate something."

"Right." Lexie rolls her eyes. "You're still waiting for the reality to hit me. You're still waiting for me to bolt. Well, puke and _then _bolt."

"Maybe," I reply evasively, taking her hand and threading my fingers through hers easily, despite them now being a bit more encumbered than they were this morning. She smiles, turning towards me and pressing a happy kiss against my mouth. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Good," I smile, taking her face in one of my hands and kissing her back. "Good."

She grins up at me before pulling at my hand and heading towards the back of the apartment.

"Don't tell me this 'I'm _ti-ired_, Mark' act was all a ruse," I call, mimicking a whiny voice as I follow behind her.

"So what if it was?" She grins over her shoulder. "Who are you to complain, Mark Sloan?"

"Sorry, was that misconstrued as a complaint?" I ask, coming to a stop beside her as she takes a few steps inside the bedroom. "Because it really wasn't," I say, ducking to kiss her lips. I can feel her smile widely, and as my hands link around her back and pull her tight against me, I can finally relax and let go of all my fear and worry. Tonight is the first time in a long time that I've felt completely at peace in my life, completely joined with the person before me.

"Thank you for coming back to me," I whisper against her lips as I begin to back us towards the bed without breaking the kiss.

"Thank you for letting me come back," she replies just as quietly. Her hands reach up to cradle my face, and I let mine slip from the behind her back to her face as well. We're facing each other, but our eyes don't meet. I glance at her dark pupils once, but her eyes are locked exactly where mine are—left hand, fourth finger—where a solid gold band rests snugly against our skin.

"I love you."

I don't know who whispers it first, but all that matters is that we both reply in kind before our lips meet.

"I love you too."

_. . ._

_Like ships in the night_

_You keep passing me by_

_Just wasting time; trying to prove who's right_

_. . ._

_We're just fumbling through the gray_

_Trying to find our way down a road we don't know_

_Trying to find a heart that's not walking away_

_. . ._

**_Trying to believe in your silent own way_**

**_Cause we'll be okay, I'm not going away_**

**_And I'm gonna find my way_**

**_Back to your side_**

**_I'm gonna find my way_**

**_Back to your side_**

_. . ._

_Author's Note: I'd just like to say that writing this was a pretty interesting exercise. Though I was raised Catholic, I am not anymore and focusing a whole little story with religion as the main theme was…interesting, to say the least. Hopefully I made it genuine._

_And, hey! Happy ending? Did I do it justice or not? I'm out of practice with happiness when it comes to these two, but..._

**_Please review and tell me what you think!_**


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